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I 


CAN 


T%    • 


• 


FANNY   LAMBERT 


.  OF 


.  LIBBABY,  MB 


FANNY    LAMBERT 


BY 


HENRY     DE     VERE    STACPOOLE 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  CRIMSON  AZALEAS" 
THE  BLUE  LAGOON"  ETC.,  ETC. 


R.     F.     F   E  N  N  O     &     COMPANY 

18     East     17th      Street,       New      York 

T.  FISHER  UNWIN,  LONDON 


CONTENTS 


PART  I 

CHAP.  PACK 

I.    MR   LEAVESLEY      .  .               .               .               •               .  I 

II.   A   LOST  TYPE          .  ,               ,               ,               .  4 

III.    A   COUNCIL  OF  THREE  .....  12 

IV.    HANCOCK  &   HANCOCK  .....  26 

V.    OMENS         .......  31 

VI.  LAMBERT  V.  BEVAN  .....  36 

VII.  THE  BEVAN  TEMPER  .....  4! 

viii.  AT  "THE  LAURELS"      .....        48 
ix.   "WHAT  TALES  ARE  THESE?"    .  .  .  .62 

X.   ASPARAGUS  AND  CATS      .  .  .  .  ,          76 

PART  II 

I.    A  REVELATION       •..»«.          86 
II.   THE   GOD   FROM   THE   MACHINE  .  .  ,  .113 

III.  TRIBULATIONS  OF   AN   AUNT         .  .  .  .         125 

IV.  THE  DAISY  CHAIN  .....        131 

PART   III 

I.    AN  ASSIGNATION  .  .  .  .  ,14! 

II.    THE   EMOTIONS  OF   MR   BRIDGEWATKR    .  •  .        150 

III.  AN   OLD   MAN'S  OUTING   .....         159 

IV.  A   MEETING  ...*..         169 
V.   THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BRIDGEWATER      ...        171 

VI.   A  CONFESSION        ......         176 

VII.   IN  GORDON   SQUARE  .  .  .  ,  .185 


CONTENTS 


PART   IV 

CHA* 

i.  "THE  ROOST"    .•••••  *94 

II.  MISS   MORGAN          ...•••  2O7 

III.    A  CURE   FOR   BLINDNESS                  ....  223 

IV.   TIC-DOULOUREUX                                  .                •                «                •  23S 

V.   THE   AMBASSADOR                .                .                .                •                •  24$ 

VI.    A   SURPRISE   VISIT                .....  2$l 

VII.    THE   UNEXPLAINED                              .               •                •                •  263 

VIII.    RETURN   OF  THE   AMBASSADOR                     .                •                •  269 

PART  V 

I.   GOUT            ...••••  274 

II.    THB   RESULT            .                .....  283 

III.  THE  RESULT  (continued)  .             .            •            •            •  299 
iv.  "JOURNEY'S  END"         t           •          «          t          •  301 


FANNY    LAMBERT 


PART  I 
CHAPTER  I 

MR    LEAVESLEY 

"You  may  take  away  the  things,  Belinda," 
said  Mr  Leavesley,  lighting  his  pipe  and 
taking  his  seat  at  the  easel.  "  Nobody  called 
this  morning,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Only  the  Capting,  sir,"  replied  Belinda, 
piling  the  tray.  "He  called  at  seven  to  bony 
your  umbrella." 

"  Did  you  give  it  him  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,  Mr  Verneede's  got  it ;  you  lent 
it  to  him  the  night  before  last,  and  he  hasn't 
brought  it  back." 

"  Ah,  so  I  did,"  said  Mr  Leavesley,  squeez- 
ing Naples  yellow  from  an  utterly  exhausted 

A 


2  FANNY  LAMBERT 

looking  tube.  "  So  I  did,  so  I  did ;  that's 
the  fifteenth  umbrella  or  so  that  Verneede 
has  annexed  of  mine :  what  does  he  do  with 
them,  do  you  think,  Belinda?" 

"  I'm  sure  /  don't  know,  sir,"  replied  the 
maid -of- all- work,  looking  round  the  studio 
as  if  in  search  of  inspiration,  "unless  he 
spouts  them." 

"  That  will  do,  Belinda,"  said  the  owner  of 
the  lost  umbrellas,  turning  to  his  work,  and 
the  servant-maid  departed. 

It  was  a  large,  pleasant  studio,  furnished 
with  very  little  affectation,  and  its  owner  was 
a  slight,  pleasant-faced  youth,  happy-go-lucky 
looking,  with  a  glitter  in  his  grey  eyes 
suggesting  a  touch  of  genius  or  insanity  in 
their  owner. 

He  was  an  orphan  blessed  with  a  small 
competency.  His  income,  to  use  his  own 
formula,  consisted  of  a  hundred  a  year  and 
an  uncle.  During  the  first  four  months  or 
so  of  the  year  he  spent  the  hundred  pounds, 
during  the  rest  of  the  year  he  squandered  his 
uncle ;  that  is  to  say  he  would  have  squandered 
him  only  for  the  fact  that  Mr  James  Hancock, 
of  the  firm  of  Hancock  &  Hancock,  solicitors, 
was  a  person  most  difficult  to  "  negotiate." 


MR   LEAVESLEY  3 

Art,  however,  was  looking  up.  He  had 
sold  several  pictures  lately.  The  morning 
mists  on  the  road  to  success  were  clearing 
away,  leaving  to  the  view  in  a  prospect  distant 
tremulous  and  golden  the  mysterious  city  of 
attainment. 

He  would  have  whistled  as  he  worked  only 
that  he  was  smoking. 

Through  the  open  windows  came  the  pulse- 
like  sound  of  the  omnibuses  in  the  King's 
Road,  the  sleigh  bells  of  the  hansoms,  the 
rattle  of  the  coster's  barrow,  and  voices. 

As  he  painted,  the  sounds  outside  brought 
before  him  the  vision  of  the  King's  Road, 
Chelsea,  where  flaming  June  was  also  at  work 
with  her  golden  brush  and  palette  of  violet 
colours. 

He  saw  in  imagination  the  scarlet  pyramids 
of  strawberries  in  the  shops.  The  blazing 
barrow  of  flowers  all  a-growing  and  a-blowing, 
the  late -June  morning  crowd,  and  through 
the  crowd  wending  its  way  the  figure  of  a 
girl. 

He  was  in  love. 

In  the  breast-pocket  of  his  coat  (on  the 
heart  side)  lay  a  letter  he  had  received  by 
the  early  morning  post.  The  handwriting 


4  FANNY  LAMBERT 

was  large  and  generous  and  careless,  for  no 
man  living  could  tell  the  "  m's  "  from  the  "  w's," 
or  the  "t's"  from  the  "1's."  It  ran  somewhat 
to  this  effect : 

"THE  LAURELS,  HIGHGATE. 

"  Father  is  worrying  dreadfully,  and  I  want 
your  advice.  I  think  I  will  be  in  the  King's 
Road  to-morrow,  and  will  call  on  you.  Excuse 
this  scrawl. — In  wild  haste, 

"  FANNY  LAMBERT. 

"  How's  the  picture  ?  " 

Occasionally  as  he  painted  he  touched  his 
coat  where  the  letter  lay,  as  if  to  make  sure 
of  its  presence. 

Suddenly  he  ceased  working.  There  was 
a  step  on  the  stairs,  a  knock  at  the  door. 
Could  it  be? 


CHAPTER  II 

A   LOST   TYPE 

"  MY  young  friend  Leavesley,"  cried  the 
apparition  that  had  suddenly  framed  itself  in 
the  doorway;  "busy  as  usual — and  how  is 
Art?" 

44 1  don't  know.     Come  in  and  shut  the  door ; 


A   LOST   TYPE  5 

take  a  seat,  take  a  cigarette  —  bother  this 
drapery  —  well,  what  have  you  been  doing 
with  yourself?" 

Mr  Verneede  took  neither  a  seat  nor  a 
cigarette.  He  took  his  place  behind  the 
painter,  and  gazed  at  the  work  in  progress 
with  a  critical  air. 

He  was  a  fantastic-looking  old  gentleman, 
dressed  in  a  tightly-buttoned  frock  coat.  A 
figure  suggestive  of  Count  d'  Orsay  gone  to 
the  dogs.  Mildewed,  washed,  and  mangled 
by  Fate,  and  very  much  faded  in  the  process. 

He  said  nothing  for  a  moment,  and  then 
he  said,  after  a  long  and  critical  survey  of  the 
little  genre  picture  on  which  our  artist  was 
engaged  : 

"Your  work  improves,  decidedly  your  work 
improves,  Leavesley — improves,  very  much  so, 
very  much  so,  very  much  so." 

The  artist  said  nothing,  and  the  irresponsible 
critic,  placing  his  hat  on  the  floor  and  tightly 
clasping  the  umbrella  he  carried  under  his  left 
arm,  made  a  funnel  of  his  hands  and  gazed 
through  it  at  the  picture. 

"  Decidedly,  decidedly ;  but  might  I  make 
a  suggestion  ?  " 

"Yes,  yes." 


6  FANNY   LAMBERT 

"Well,  now,  frankly,  the  attitude  of  that 
man  with  the  axe " 

"Which  man  with  the  axe?" 

"  He  in  the  right-hand  corner  by  the " 

"  That's  not  a  man  with  an  axe,  that's  a 
lady  with  a  fan,  you  old  owl." 

"Heavens!"  cried  Mr  Verneede.  "How 
could  I  have  been  so  deceived,  it  was  the  light. 
Of  course,  of  course,  of  course — a  lady  with 
a  fan,  it's  quite  obvious  now.  A  lady  with  a 
fan — do  you  find  these  very  small  pictures  pay, 
Leavesley  ?  " 

"Yes — no — I  don't  know.  Sit  down,  like 
a  good  fellow  ;  that's  right — look  here. " 

"  I  attend." 

"I'm  expecting  a  young  lady  to  call  here 
to-day." 

"  A  young  lady  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  I  wish  you'd  wait  and  see  her." 

"  T  shall  be  charmed." 

"You  will  when  you  see  her — but  it's  not 
that.  See  here,  Verneede,  I  want  to  explain 
her  to  you." 

"  I  listen." 

"  She's  quite  unlike  any  one  else." 

"Ha!" 

"I   mean   in   this   way,  she's  so  jolly   and 


A  LOST  TYPE  7 

innocent  and  altogether  good,  that  upon  my 
word  I  wish  she  wasn't  coming  here  alone." 

"  You  fear  to  trust  yourself " 

"  Oh,  rubbish !  only,  it  doesn't  seem  the 
thing." 

"  Decidedly  not,  decidedly  not." 

"  Oh,  rubbish !  she's  as  safe  here  as  if  she 
were  with  her  grandfather — what  I  mean  to 
say  is  this,  she's  so  innocent  of  the  world  that 
she  does  things  quite  innocently  that — that 
conventional  people  don't  do,  don't  you  know. 
She  has  no  mother." 

"  Poor  young  thing ! " 

"  And  her  father,  who  is  one  of  the  jolliest 
men  in  the  world,  lets  her  do  anything  she 
likes.  I  wish  I  had  a  female  of  some  sort 
to  receive  her  here,  but  I  haven't,"  said  Mr 
Leavesley,  looking  round  the  studio  as  if  in 
search  of  the  article  in  question. 

"  I  know  of  an  eminently  respectable  female," 
said  Mr  Verneede  meditatively,  "  who  would 
fall  in  with  your  requirements  ;  unfortunately, 
she  is  not  available  at  a  short  notice ;  she  lives 
in  Hoxton,  as  a  matter  of  fact." 

"That's  no  use,  might  as  well  live  in  the 
moon.  No  matter,  youll  do,  an  excellent 
substitute  like  What's-his-name's  marmalade." 


8  FANNY  LAMBERT 

"May  I  ask,"  said  Mr  Verneede,  rather 
stiffly,  as  if  slightly  ruffled  by  this  last  remark, 
"is  this  young  lady,  from  a  worldly  point  of 
view,  an  Eligible  partie  ?  " 

"  Don't  know,  she's  a  most  lovable  girl.  I 
met  them  in  Paris,  she  and  her  father,  and 
travelled  back  with  them.  They  have  a  big 
house  up  at  Highgate,  and  an  estate  some- 
where in  the  country,  but,  somehow,  I  fancy 
their  affairs  are  involved.  Mr  Lambert 
always  seems  to  be  going  to  law  with  people. 
No  matter,  I  want  to  get  some  cakes — cakes 
and  tea  are  the  right  sort  of  things  to  offer 
a  person — a  girl — wine  is  impossible.  What's 
the  time?  After  two!  Wait  here  for  me,  I 
won't  be  long." 

He  took  his  hat,  and  left  the  studio  to  Mr 
Verneede. 

Verneede  was  one  of  those  bizarre  figures, 
with  whose  construction  Nature  seems  to  have 
had  very  little  to  do.  What  he  had  been 
was  a  mystery,  where  he  lived  was  to  most 
people  a  mystery,  and  what  he  lived  on  was 
a  mystery  to  every  one.  Some  tiny  income 
he  must  have  had,  but  no  man  knew  from 
whence  it  came.  Useless  and  picturesque  as 
an  old  fashion-plate,  he  wandered  through  life 


A   LOST   TYPE  9 

with  an  umbrella  under  his  arm,  ready  to 
stand  at  any  street  corner  in  the  chill  east 
wind  or  the  broiling  sun  and  listen  to  any 
tale  told  by  any  man,  and  give  useless  advice 
or  instruction  on  any  subject. 

His  criticisms  were  the  despair  and  delight 
of  artists,  according  to  their  liability  to  be 
soothed  or  maddened  by  the  absolutely  inane. 

For  the  rest,  he  was  quite  harmless,  his 
chiefest  vice,  after  a  taste  for  beer,  a  passion 
for  borrowing  umbrellas  and  never  returning 
them, 

Mr  Verneede  seated,  immersed  in  his  own 
weird  thoughts  and  contemplations,  came 
suddenly  to  consciousness  again  with  a  start. 

A  dark-haired  girl  of  that  lost  type  which 
recalls  La  Cruche  Cassee  and  the  Love-in-April 
conceptions  of  Fragonard,  exquisitely  pretty  and 
exquisitely  dressed,  was  in  the  studio.  He  had 
not  heard  her  knock,  or  perceived  her  enter. 
Had  she  descended  through  the  ceiling  or  risen 
from  the  floor  ?  was  it  a  real  girl,  or  was  it 
June  materialised  in  a  gown  of  corn-flower 
blue,  and  with  wild  field  poppies  in  her  breast  ? 

"  God  bless  my  soul ! "  said  Mr  Verneede. 

"You  were  asleep,  I  think,"  said  the  girl. 
"  I'm  so  sorry  to  have  disturbed  you,  but  I 


10  FANNY  LAMBERT 

want  to  see  Mr  Leavesley;  this  is  his  studio, 
I  think." 

"Oh,  certainly,  yes,  this  is  his  studio,  I 
believe.  Pray  take  a  seat.  Ah,  yes — dear  me, 
what  a  strange  coincidence— 

"And  these  are  his  pictures?"  said  the 
girl,  looking  round  her  in  an  interested  way. 
She  had  placed  a  tiny  parcel  and  an  impossible 
parasol  on  the  table,  and  was  drawing  off  a 
suede  glove  leisurely,  as  she  glanced  around 
her. 

"These  are  his  pictures,"  answered  the  old 
gentleman,  "  works  of  art — very  much  so,  the 
highest  art  inspired  by  the  truest  genius." 

Miss  Lambert — for  the  June-like  apparition 
was  Miss  Lambert — followed  with  her  little 
face  the  sweep  of  the  old  gentleman's  arm  as 
he  pointed  out  the  highest  art  inspired  by 
the  truest  genius.  Rough  studies,  canvases 
turned  face  to  the  wall,  and  one  or  two  small 
finished  pictures. 

Then,  realising  that  he  had  found  an 
innocent  victim,  he  began  to  expatiate  on  art 
and  on  the  pictures  around  them,  and  she  to 
listen,  innocence  attending  to  ignorance. 

"He  is  very  clever,  isn't  he?"  put  in  Miss 
Lambert,  during  a  pause  in  the  exordium. 


A  LOST   TYPE  n 

"  A  genius,  my  dear  young  lady,  a  genius," 
said  Mr  Verneede,  looking  at  her  over  his 
shoulder  as  he  replaced  on  a  high  bracket  a 
little  picture  he  had  reached  down  to  show 
her. 

11  One  of  the  few  living  artists  who  can 
paint  light.  I  may  say  that  he  paints  light 
with  a  delicacy  and  an  elegance  all  his  own. 
Fiat  Lux" — the  shelf  came  down  with  a  crash 
and  a  cloud  of  dust — "as  the  poet  says — pray 
don't  move,  I  will  restore  the  debris — as  the 
poet  says.  Now  the  gem  of  my  young  friend 
Leavesley's  collection,  in  my  mind,  is  the 
John  the  Baptist." 

He  went  to  a  huge  canvas  which  stood 
with  its  face  to  the  wall,  seized  it  with  arms 
outstretched,  and  turned  it  towards  the  girl. 

It  was  a  picture  of  a  semi  -  nude  female 
after  Reubens  that  the  blundering  old  gentle- 
man had  seized  upon. 

"  Observe  the  sunlight  on  the  beard,"  came 
the  voice  of  the  showman  from  behind  the 
canvas,  "  the  devotion  in  the  eyes,  the — ooch  ! !  " 

A  pillow  caught  from  the  couch  by  Frank 
Leavesley  who  had  just  entered,  and  dexter- 
ously thrown,  had  flattened  canvas  and  show- 
man beneath  a  cloud  of  dust. 


12  FANNY  LAMBERT 

CHAPTER  III 

A    COUNCIL    OF    THREE 

,'Now,  let's  all  be  happy,"  said  Miss  Lambert; 
they  had  finished  tea  and  Belinda  was  removing 
the  things,  "for  I  must  be  going  in  a  minute, 
and  I  have  such  a  lot  of  things  to  say — oh 
dear  me,  that  reminds  me,"  her  under-lip  fell 
slightly. 

"  What  ?  "  asked  Leavesley. 

"  That  I'm  perfectly  miserable.'* 

"  Oh,  don't  say  that— 

"  My  dear  young  lady— 

"  I  mean  I  ought  to  be  perfectly  miserable," 
said  Miss  Lambert  with  a  charming  smile, 
"but  somehow  I'm  not.  Do  you  know,  I 
never  am  what  I  ought  to  be.  When  I  ought 
to  be  happy  I'm  miserable,  and  when  I  ought 
to  be  miserable  I'm  happy.  Father  says  I 
was  addled  at  birth,  and  that  I  ought  to  have 
been  put  out  of  doors  on  a  red-hot  shovel  as 
they  used  to  do  long  ago  in  Ireland  with  the 
omadlunns,  or  was  it  the  changelings  —  no 
matter.  I  wanted  to  talk  to  you  about  father 
— no,  please  don't  go,"  to  Verneede,  who  had 


A   COUNCIL   OF   THREE         13 

made  a  little  movement  as  if  to  say  "Am  I 
de  trop  ? "  "  You  are  both  so  clever  I'm  sure 
you  will  be  able  to  give  me  good  advice.  He's 
worrying  so." 

"Ah!"  said  Mr  Verneede,  with  the  air  of 
a  physician  at  a  consultation.  He  was  in  his 
element,  he  saw  a  prospect  of  unburthening 
himself  of  some  of  his  superfluous  advice. 

"  It's  this  Action,"  resumed  Fanny,  as  if 
she  were  speaking  of  a  tumour  or  carbuncle, 
"that  makes  him  so  bad;  I'm  getting  quite 
frightened  about  him." 

"Was  that  the  action  he  spoke  to  me 
about?"  asked  Leavesley. 

"Which?"  asked  Fanny. 

"  The  one  against  a  bookseller  ?  " 

"  Oh  no,  I  think  that's  settled ;  it's  the  one 
against  our  cousin,  Mr  Bevan." 

"  Ah  ! " 

"  It's  about  the  right-of-way — I  mean  the 
right  of  fishing  in  a  stream  down  in  Bucking- 
hamshire. They've  spent  ever  so  much  money 
over  it,  it's  worrying  father  to  death,  but  he  wont 
give  it  up.  I  thought  perhaps  if  you  spoke  to 
him  you  might  have  some  influence  with  him." 

"I'd  be  delighted  to  do  anything,"  said 
Leavesley.  "  What  is  this  man  Bevan  like  ?  " 


14  FANNY  LAMBERT 

"  Frightfully  rich,  and  a  beast." 

"  That's  comprehensive  anyhow,"  said 
Leavesley. 

"  Most,  most — most  clear  and  comprehen- 
sive," concurred  Mr  Verneede. 

"  I  hate  him  !  "  said  Fanny,  her  eyes  flashing, 
"and  I  wish  he  and  his  old  fish  stream  were 
-boiled." 

"  That  would  certainly  solve  the  difficulty," 
said  Leavesley,  scratching  the  side  of  his  hand 
meditatively. 

"  And  his  beastly  old  solicitor  too,"  continued 
the  girl,  tenderly  lifting  a  lady-bird,  that  had 
somehow  got  into  the  studio  and  on  to  her 
knee,  on  the  point  of  her  finger.  "  Isn't  he 
beautiful  ?  " 

"  Most,"  assented  Leavesley,  gazing  with  an 
artist's  delight  at  the  white  tapering  finger  on 
which  the  painted  and  polished  insect  was 
balancing  preparatory  to  flight. 

"  Who  is  his  solicitor,  by  the  way  ?  " 

"  Mr  Hancock  of  Southampton  Row." 

"Mr  Who?" 

"  Hancock." 

"Why,  he's  my  uncle." 

"  Oh  ! "  cried  Fanny,  "  I  am  sorry." 

"  That  he's  my  uncle  ?  " 


A  COUNCIL   OF   THREE         15 

"  No— that  I  said  that " 

"  Oh,  that  doesn't  matter.  I've  often 
wished  him  boiled.  It's  awfully  funny, 
though,  that  he  should  be  this  man  Bevan's 
solicitor — very." 

"  I  have  an  idea,"  said  Verneede,  leaning 
forward  in  his  chair  and  pressing  the  points  of 
his  fingers  together. 

"My  dear  young  lady,  may  I  make  a 
suggestion  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Fanny. 

"  Two  suggestions,  I  should  have  said." 

"  Fire  away,"  cut  in  Leavesley. 

"  Well,  my  dear  young  lady,  if  my  advice 
were  asked  I  would  first  of  all  say  'dam  the 
stream. 

"  Verneede !  "  cried  Leavesley.  "  What  are 
you  saying  ?  " 

"  Father's  always  damning  it,"  replied  Miss 
Lambert  with  a  laugh,  "but  it  doesn't  seem  to 
do  much  good." 

"  My  other  suggestion,"  said  Verneede,  taken 
aback  at  the  supposed  beaver-like  attributes  of 
Mr  Lambert,  "  is  this,  go  in  your  own  person 
to  the  friend  of  my  friend  Leavesley.  I  mean 
the  uncle  of  my  friend.  Go  to  Mr  Hancock, 
go  to  him  frankly,  fearlessly,  tell  him  the  tale 


16  FANNY   LAMBERT 

you  have  told  us ;  tell  it  to  him  with  your  own 
lips,  in  your  own  manner,  with  your  own 
charm ;  say  to  him  '  You  are  killing  my  father 
— cease.'  Speak  to  him  in  your  own  way,  smile 
at  him " 

"  Thafs  not  a  bad  idea,"  said  Miss  Lambert, 
turning  to  Leavesley,  who  was  seated  mouth 
open,  aghast  at  this  lunatic  proposition. 

"  That's  a  splendid  idea,  and  I'll  do  it." 

"  Say  to  him  '  Cease ! ' "  continued  Verneede, 
speaking  in  an  inspired  voice.  "  Say  to 
him " 

"Oh,  shut  up!"  cried  Leavesley,  shaken  out 
of  politeness.  "  Do  you  know  what  you're 
talking  about?  Hancock  is  Bevan's  solicitor." 

"That's  just  why  I'm  going  to  him,"  said 
Miss  Lambert. 

"  But  it's  against  all  the  rules  of  everything. 
I'm  not  sure  that  it  wouldn't  be  considered 
tampering  with — um — Justice." 

"It's  not  a  question  of  justice,  it's  a  question 
of  common-sense,"  said  Miss  Lambert. 

"  Exactly,"  said  Verneede,  "common-sense; 
if  this  Mr  —  er  —  the  uncle  of  my  friend 
Leavesley,  is  endowed  with  common-sense  and 
a  sense  of  justice — yes,  justice  and  a  feeling  for 
beauty " 


A  COUNCIL   OF  THREE         17 

"  Oh,  do  stop !  "  said  Leavesley,  the  prosaic 
vision  of  James  Hancock  rising  before  him. 

"  What  on  earth  do  lawyers  know  of  justice 
or  beauty  or 

"  If  they  don't,"  replied  Fanny,  "  it's  quite 
time  they  were  taught." 

"  Quite,"  concurred  Verneede. 

When  certain  chemicals  are  brought  into 
juxtaposition  certain  results  result.  So  it  is 
with  brains.  Mr  Leavesley  for  a  moment  sat 
contemplating  the  crazy  plan  propounded  by 
Mr  Verneede.  Then  he  broke  into  a  laugh. 
His  imagination  pictured  the  interview  between 
Miss  Lambert  and  his  uncle. 

"  Well,  go  ahead,"  he  said.  "  Perhaps  you're 
right ;  I  don't  know  much  about  the  law,  but, 
anyhow,  it's  not  a  hanging  matter.  When  are 
you  going  ?  " 

"Now,"  said  Miss  Lambert,  putting  on  her 
gloves. 

Leavesley  looked  at  his  watch. 

"You'll  scarcely  catch  him  at  the  office 
unless  you  take  a  cab." 

"  I'll  take  a  cab.     Will  you  come  with  me  ?  " 

"Yes,  rather!" 

"Only  as  far  as  the  door,"  said  Miss 
Lambert. 

B 


18  FANNY   LAMBERT 

"  It's  like  going  to  the  dentist ;  I  always  take 
father  with  me  to  the  dentist's  as  far  as  the 
door,  for  fear  I'd  run  away.  Once  I'm  in  I 

don't  care  a  bit ;  it's  the  going  in  is  the  dreadful 

,  » 
part. 

"  I  know,"  said  Leavesley,  reaching  for  his 
hat.  "  It's  like  facing  the  music,  the  overture 
is  the  worst  part." 

"  I  don't  think  you'd  call  it  music,"  said  Miss 
Lambert,  "if  you  heard  me  at  the  dentist's 
when  he's  working  that  drill  thing — ugh ! 
Come." 

They  left  the  studio. 

The  prospect  of  having  Miss  Lambert  all 
alone  to  himself  in  a  cab  made  the  heart  of 
Mr  Leavesley  palpitate,  mixed  emotions  filled 
his  soul.  Blue  funk  was  the  basis  of  these 
emotions.  He  was  going  to  propose,  so  he 
told  himself,  immediately,  the  instant  they 
were  in  the  cab  and  the  horse  had  started. 
That  was  all  very  well  as  a  statement  made 
to  himself:  it  did  not  conceal  the  fact  that  Miss 
Lambert  was  a  terribly  difficult  girl  to  propose 
to.  One  of  those  jolly  girls  who  treat  one  as  a 
brother  are  generally  the  most  difficult  to  deal 
with  when  one  approaches  them  as  a  lover. 
But  Miss  Lambert,  besides  the  fact  of  her 


A   COUNCIL   OF  THREE          19 

jollity  and  her  treatment  of  Mr  Leavesley  as  a 
brother,  had  a  personality  all  her  own.  She 
seemed  to  him  a  combination  of  the  practical 
and  the  unpractical  in  about  equal  proportions, 
one  could  never  tell  how  she  would  take 
things. 

They  walked  down  the  King's  Road  looking 
for  a  cab,  Miss  Lambert  and  Verneede 
engaged  in  vivacious  conversation,  Leavesley 
silent,  engaged  in  troubled  attempts  to  think. 

I  give  a  few  links  from  the  chain  of  his 
thoughts  just  as  a  specimen. 

"  Fanny,  I  love  you — no,  I  can't  say  that, 
it's  too  bald  and  brutal.  Miss  Lambert,  I 
have  long  wanted  to — oh,  rubbish !  How 
would  it  do  to  take  her  hand — I  darerit — 
bother ! — does  she  care  a  button  about  me  ? 
Perhaps  it  would  be  better  to  put  it  off  till 
the  next  time — I'm  not  going  to  funk  it — • 
may  I  call  you  Fanny  ? — or  Fanny — may  I  call 
you  Fanny?  or  Miss  Lambert  may  I  call  you 
Fanny?  How  would  it  be  to  write?  No, 
I'll  do  it." 

They  stopped,  Mr  Verneede  had  hailed  a 
cab,  and  Leavesley  came  out  of  his  reverie 
to  find  a  four-wheeler  drawing  up  at  the 
pavement. 


20  FANNY   LAMBERT 

"  Hullo,"  he  said  to  Verneede,  "  what  did 
you  call  that  thing  for  ? " 

"  To  drive  in,"  replied  Fanny,  whilst 
Verneede  opened  the  door.  "Get  in,  I'm  in  a 
horrible  fright." 

"But,"  said  Leavesley,  "a  four-wheeler — 
why  not  a  hansom  ? " 

"  No,  no,"  said  Miss  Lambert,  getting  into 
the  vehicle,  "  I  hate  hansoms,  I  was  thrown 
out  of  one  once.  Besides,  this  is  more  respect- 
able. Do  get  in  quick,  and  tell  the  man  to 
drive  fast ;  I  want  to  get  the  agony  over." 

"  Corner  of  Southampton  Row,"  cried 
Leavesley  to  the  driver.  He  got  in,  Verneede 
shut  the  door  and  stood  on  the  pavement, 
bowing  and  smiling  in  an  antiquated  way  as 
they  drove  off. 

It  was  a  four-wheeler  with  pretensions  in 
the  form  of  maroon  velveteen  cushions  and 
rubber  tyres,  a  would-be  imitation  brougham, 
but  the  old  growler  blood  came  out  in  its 
voice,  every  window  rattled.  Driving  in  it, 
one  could  hear  oneself  speak,  but  conversation 
with  a  companion  to  be  intelligible  had  to  be 
conducted  in  a  mild  shout. 

"  I  don't  in  the  least  know  what  I'm  going 
to  say  to  him,"  cried  Miss  Lambert,  leaning 


21 

forward  towards  her  companion  —  he  was 
seated  opposite  to  her  on  the  front  seat. 
"  I'm  so  nervous,  I  can't  think." 

"Don't  go  to  him." 

"  I   must,  now  we've  taken  the  cab." 

"  Let's  go  somewhere  else." 

"Where?" 

"  Anywhere — Madame  Tussaud's." 

"  No,  no,  I'm  going.  Don't  let's  talk  of  it, 
let's  talk  of  something  pleasant."  She  opened 
her  purse,  turned  its  meagre  contents  into  her 
lap,  and  examined  some  bills  that  were  stuffed 
into  a  side  compartment. 

"What's  two-and-six,  and  three  shillings, 
and  eighteen  pence?" 

"  Eight  shillings,  I  think,"  answered  Leaves- 
ley  after  a  moment's  thought. 

"Then  I've  lost  a  shilling,"  pouted  Miss 
Lambert,  counting  her  money,  replacing  it, 
and  closing  the  purse  with  a  snap.  "No 
matter,  let's  think  of  something  pleasant. 
Isn't  old  Mr  Verneede  sweet?" 

"  Fanny,"  said  Leavesley,  ignoring  the 
saccharine  possibilities  of  Mr  Verneede — "may 
I  call  you  Fanny?" 

"Of  course,  every  one  does.  I  say,  is  this 
cabman  taking  us  right?" 


22  FANNY  LAMBERT 

"  Yes,  quite.  What  I  was  going  to  say," 
weakly  and  suddenly,  "  Fanny,  let's  go  some- 
where some  day,  and  have  a  really  good 
time." 

"Where?" 

"  Up  the  river — anywhere." 

"  I'd  love  to,"  said  Miss  Lambert.  "  I 
haven't  been  up  the  river  for  ages ;  let's 
have  a  picnic." 

"Yes,  let's;    what  day  could  you  come?" 

"  Any  day — at  least  some  day.  Some  day 
next  week — only  father  is  going  away  next 
week,  and  a  picnic  would  be  nothing  without 
him" 

"  Suppose  you  and  I  and  Verneede  went 
for  a  picnic  next  week  ? " 

"  That  would  be  fun,"  said  the  girl ;  "  we  can 
make  tea — oh,  don't  let  us  talk  of  picnics,  I  feel 
miserable.  Will  he  eat  me,  do  you  think?" 

"Who?" 

"  Mr  Hancock." 

"  Not  he — unless  he  has  the  gout,  he's 
perfectly  savage  when  he  has  the  gout — I 
say  ?  " 

"What?" 

"  You'd  better  not  tell  him  you  know  me." 

"Why?" 


A  COUNCIL   OF   THREE         23 

"Oh,  because  I've  been  fighting  with  him 
lately.  I  quarrel  with  him  once  in  three 
months  or  so.  If  he  thought  you  and  I  were 
friends,  it  might  put  his  back  up." 

"  I'll  be  mum,"  said  Miss  Lambert. 

"I'll  wait  for  you  at  the  corner  till  you 
come  out,"  said  Leavesley,  "and  tell  me, 
Fanny." 

"What?" 

"  You  will  come  for  a  picnic,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  Rather,  if  I'm  alive.  I  feel  like  the  young 
lady  of  Niger — wasn't  it? — who  went  for  a 
ride  on  a  tiger,  just  before  she  saddled  it " 

The  cab  rattled  and  rumbled  them  at  last 
into  Oxford  Street.  At  the  corner  of  South- 
ampton Row  it  stopped.  They  got  out,  and 
Leavesley  paid  and  dismissed  the  driver. 

"That's  the  house  down  there,"  said  he, 
"No.  — .  I'll  wait  for  you  here;  dorit  be 
long." 

"  I  won't  be  a  minute,  at  least  I'll  be  as 
short  as  I  can.  Now  I'm  going" 

She  tripped  off,  and  Leavesley  watched  her 
flitting  by  the  grim,  business-like  houses.  She 
turned  for  a  second,  glanced  back,  and  then 
No.  —  engulfed  her. 

Leavesley  waited,  trying  to  picture  to  himself 


24  FANNY  LAMBERT 

the  interview  that  was  in  progress.  Trying 
to  fancy  what  Miss  Lambert  was  saying  to 
Mr  James  Hancock,  and  what  Mr  James 
Hancock  was  saying  to  Miss  Lambert. 

Surely  no  one  in  London  could  have 
suggested  such  a  proceeding  except  Verneede, 
a  proceeding  so  hopelessly  insane  from  a 
business  point  of  view. 

To  call  on  your  adversary's  solicitor,  and  tell 
him  to  cease  because  he  was  worrying  your 
father  to  death ! 

Besides,  Lambert  was  the  man  who  ought 
to  cease,  because  it  was  Lambert  who  was 
the  plaintive. 

Punching  a  man's  head,  and  then  telling  him 
to  cease ! 

Mr  Leavesley  burst  into  a  laugh  that  caused 
a  passing  old  lady  to  hurry  on  her  way. 

He  waited.  Five  minutes  passed,  ten, 
fifteen  ;  what  was  happening  ? 

It  was  nearly  closing  time  at  the  office. 
Twenty  minutes  passed.  Could  James  Han- 
cock really  have  devoured  Fanny  in  a  fit 
of  gout  and  irritation  ? 

He  saw  Bridgewater,  the  old  chief  clerk, 
come  out  and  make  off  down  Southampton 
Row  with  a  bag  in  his  hand. 


A   COUNCIL   OF  THREE         25 

Three-quarters  of  an  hour  had  gone,  and 
Leavesley  had  taken  his  watch  out  for  the 
twentieth  time,  when  from  the  doorway  of 
No.  —  Fanny  appeared,  a  glimmer  of  blue 
like  a  butterfly  just  broken  from  its  chrysalis. 

Leavesley  made  two  steps  towards  her, 
then  he  paused.  Immediately  after  Fanny 
came  James  Hancock,  umbrella  in  hand,  and 
hat  on  the  back  of  his  head. 

He  was  accompanying  her. 

Fanny  glanced  in  Leavesley 's  direction,  and 
then  she  and  her  companion  walked  away 
down  Southampton  Row,  Hancock  walking 
with  his  long  stride ;  Fanny  trotting  beside 
him,  neither,  apparently,  speaking  one  to  the 
other. 

Leavesley  followed  full  of  amazement. 

He  could  tell  from  his  uncle's  manner  of 
walking,  and  from  the  way  he  wore  his  hat, 
that  he  was  either  irritated  or  perplexed.  He 
walked  hurriedly,  and,  viewed  from  behind, 
he  had  the  appearance  of  a  physician  who 
was  going  to  an  urgent  case. 

Much  marvelling,  the  artist  followed.  He 
saw  Hancock  hail  a  passing  four  -  wheeler, 
and  open  the  door.  Fanny  got  in,  her  com- 
panion gave  some  directions  to  the  driver, 


26  FANNY  LAMBERT 

got  in  after  the  girl,  closed  the  door,  and 
the  cab  drove  off. 

"  Now,  what  on  earth  can  this  mean  ? " 
asked  Mr  Leavesley,  taking  off  his  hat  and 
drawing  his  hand  across  his  brow. 

Disgust  at  being  robbed  of  Fanny 
struggled  in  his  mind  with  a  feeling  of  pure, 
unadulterated  wonder. 


CHAPTER   IV 

HANCOCK    &    HANCOCK 

FRANK  LEAVESLEY'S  uncle,  Mr  James  Hancock 
of  Gordon  Square  and  Southampton  Row, 
Solicitor,  was,  in  the  year  of  this  story,  still 
unmarried. 

The  firm  of  Hancock  &  Hancock  had 
thrived  in  Bloomsbury  for  upwards  of  a 
hundred  years.  By  a  judicious  exercise  of 
the  art  of  dropping  bad  clients  and  picking 
up  good,  and  retaining  the  good  when  picked 
up,  it  had  built  for  itself  a  business  second 
to  none  in  the  soliciting  world  of  the 
Metropolis. 

To  be  a  successful  solicitor  is  not  so  easy 


HANCOCK  &   HANCOCK         27 

a  matter  as  you  may  suppose.  Take  your 
own  case,  for  instance,  and  imagine  how 
many  men  you  would  trust  with  the  fact  that 
your  wife  is  in  a  madhouse  and  not  on  a 
visit  to  her  aunt;  with  the  reason  why  youi 
son  requires  cutting  off  with  a  shilling ;  why 
you  have  to  pay  so  much  a  month  to  So-and- 
so — and  so  on.  How  many  men  would  you 
trust  with  your  title-deeds,  and  bonds,  and 
scrip,  even  as  you  would  trust  yourself? 

The  art  of  inspiring  confidence  combined 
with  the  less  facile  arts  of  straight  dealing 
and  right  living,  had  placed  the  Hancocks 
in  the  first  rank  of  their  profession,  a,nd  kept 
them  there  for  over  a  hundred  years. 

James,  the  last  of  the  race,  was  in  personal 
appearance  typical  of  his  forebears.  Rather 
tall,  thin,  with  a  high  colour  suggestive  of 
port  wine,  and  a  fidgety  manner,  you  would 
never  have  guessed  him  at  first  sight  to  be 
one  of  the  keenest  business  men  in  London, 
the  depository  of  awful  secrets,  and  the 
instigator  and  successful  leader  of  legal 
forlorn  hopes. 

His  dress  was  genteel,  verging  on  the 
shabby,  a  hideous  brown  horse-hair  watch 
guard  crossed  his  waistcoat,  and  he  habitually 


28  FANNY  LAMBERT 

carried  an  umbrella  that  would  have  damned 
the  reputation  of  any  struggling  professional 
man. 

His  sister  kept  house  for  him  in  Gordon 
Square.  She  was  just  one  year  his  senior. 
An  acid  woman,  early  -  Victorian  in  her 
tendencies  and  get  -  up,  Patience  Hancock, 
to  use  the  cook's  expression,  had  been  "born 
with  the  key  of  the  coal  cellar  in  her  pocket." 
She  certainly  carried  the  key  of  the  wine 
cellar  there,  and  the  keys  of  the  plate  pantry, 
larder,  jam  depository,  and  Tantalus  case. 
Everything  lock-upable  in  the  Gordon  Square 
establishment  was  locked  up,  and  every 
month  or  so  she  received  a  "warning"  from 
one  of  the  domestics  under  her  charge. 

The  art  of  setting  by  the  ears  and  tread- 
ing on  corns  came  to  her  by  nature,  it  was 
her  misfortune,  not  her  fault,  for  despite  her 
acidity  she  had  a  heart,  atrophied  from  disuse, 
perhaps,  but  still  a  heart. 

She  treated  her  brother  as  though  she 
were  twenty  years  his  senior,  and  she  had 
prevented  him  from  marrying  by  subtle  arts 
of  her  own,  exercised  unconsciously,  perhaps, 
but  none  the  less  potently.  His  affair  with 
Miss  Wilkinson,  eldest  daughter  of  Alderman 


HANCOCK  &   HANCOCK         29 

Wilkinson,  an  affair  which  occurred  twenty 
years  ago,  had  been  withered,  or  blasted,  if 
you  like  the  expression  better,  by  Patience 
Hancock.  She  had  caused  no  bitter  feelings 
towards  herself  in  the  breast  of  either  of  the 
parties  concerned  in  this  old-time  love  affair, 
but  all  the  same  she  had  parted  them. 

Two  other  attempts  on  the  part  of  James 
Hancock  to  mate  and  have  done  with  the 
business  failed  for  no  especial  reason,  and 
of  late  years,  from  all  external  signs,  he 
appeared  to  have  come  to  the  determination 
to  have  done  with  the  business  without 
mating. 

Patience  had  almost  dismissed  the  subject 
from  her  mind ;  secure  in  the  conviction  that 
her  brother's  heart  had  jellified  and  set,  she 
had  almost  given  up  espionage,  and  had 
settled  down  before  the  prospect  of  a  com- 
fortable old  age  with  lots  of  people  to  bully 
and  a  free  hand  in  the  management  of  her 
brother  and  his  affairs. 

Bridge  water,  Hancock's  confidential  clerk,  a 
man  of  seventy  adorned  with  the  simplicity  of 
a  child  of  ten,  had  hitherto  been  her  confidant. 

Bridgewater,  seduced  with  a  glass  of  port 
wine  and  a  biscuit,  had  helped  materially  in 


30 

the  blasting  of  the  Wilkinson  affair  twenty 
years  before.  He  had  played  the  part  of  spy 
several  times,  unconsciously,  or  partly  so,  and 
to-day  he  was  just  the  same  old  blunderer, 
ready  to  fall  into  any  trap  set  for  him  by  an 
acute  woman. 

He  adored  Patience  Hancock  for  no  per- 
ceptible earthly  reason  except  that  he  had 
known  her  in  short  frocks,  and  besides  this 
weak-minded  adoration  he  regarded  her  as 
part  and  parcel  of  the  business,  and  regarded 
her  commands  as  equivalent  to  the  commands 
of  her  brother. 

Of  late  years  his  interviews  with  Patience 
had  been  few,  she  had  no  need  for  him  ;  and  as 
he  sat  over  his  bachelor's  fire  at  nights  rubbing 
his  shins  and  thinking  and  dreaming,  some- 
times across  his  recollective  faculty  would  stray 
the  old  past,  the  confidences,  the  port,  and 
the  face  of  Patience  Hancock  all  in  a  pleasant 
jumble. 

He  felt  that  of  late  years,  somehow,  his 
power  to  please  had  in  some  mysterious 
manner  waned,  and,  failing  a  more  valid 
reason,  he  put  it  down  to  that  change  in 
things  and  people  which  is  the  saddest 
accompaniment  of  age. 


OMENS  31 

CHAPTER  V 

OMENS 

ONE  day  this  late  June,  or  one  morning,  rather, 
Miss  Hancock's  dreams  of  the  future  and  her 
part  in  it  became  again  troubled. 

James  Hancock,  to  use  a  simile  taken  from 
the  garden,  showed  signs  of  sprouting.  A  new 
hat  had  come  home  the  night  before  from  the 
hatter's,  and  he  had  bought  a  new  necktie 
himself.  Hitherto  he  had  paid  for  his  neckties 
and  Patience  had  bought  them,  sombre  neck- 
ties suitable  to  a  lawyer  and  a  celibate.  This 
thing  from  Amery  and  Loders,  a  thing  of 
lilac  silk  suitable  enough  for  a  man  of  twenty, 
caused  Patience  to  stare  when  it  appeared  at 
breakfast  one  morning  round  the  neck  of  her 
brother. 

But  she  said  nothing,  she  poured  out  the  tea 
and  watched  her  brother  opening  his  letters 
and  reading  his  newspaper,  and  munching  his 
toast.  She  listened  to  his  remarks  on  the 
price  of  consols  and  the  fall  in  Russian  bonds, 
and  his  grumbles  because  the  "  bacon  was  fried 
to  a  cinder,"  just  as  she  had  watched  and 


32  FANNY  LAMBERT 

listened  for  the  last  thirty  years.  Then,  when 
he  had  finished  and  departed,  she  rose  and 
went  downstairs  to  bully  the  cook  and  terrorise 
the  maids,  which  accomplished,  she  retired  to 
her  own  room  to  dress  preparatory  to  going 
out. 

The  house  in  Gordon  Square  had  the 
solidity  of  structure  and  the  gloom  peculiar 
to  the  higher  class  houses  in  Bloomsbury. 
The  great  drawing-room  had  a  chandelier  that 
lived  in  a  bag,  and  sofas  and  chairs  arrayed  in 
brown  holland  overalls ;  there  were  things  in 
woolwork  that  Amelia  Sedley  might  have 
worked,  and  abominations  of  art,  deposited  by 
the  early  Victorian  age,  struggled  for  pride  of 
place  with  Georgian  artistic  attempts.  The 
dining-room  was  furnished  with  solid  mahogany, 
and  everything  in  and  about  the  place  seemed 
solid  and  constructed  with  a  view  to  eternity 
and  the  everlasting  depression  of  man. 

A  week's  sojourn  in  this  house  explained 
much  of  a  certain  epoch  in  English  History 
to  the  mind  of  the  sojourner ;  at  the  termina- 
tion of  the  visit  one  began  to  understand 
dimly  the  humours  of  Gillray  and  the  fidelity 
to  truth  of  that  atmosphere  of  gloom  pervading 
the  pictures  of  Hogarth.  One  understood 


OMENS  33 

why,  in  that  epoch,  men  drank  deep,  why 
women  swooned  and  improved  swooning  into 
a  fine  art,  why  Society  was  generally  beastly 
and  brutal,  and  why  great  lords  sat  up  all  night 
soaking  themselves  with  brandy  and  waiting  to 
see  the  hangman  turn  off  a  couple  of  poor 
wretches  in  the  dawn ;  also,  why  men  hanged 
themselves  without  waiting  for  the  hangman, 
alleging  for  reason  "the  spleen." 

Miss  Hancock,  having  arranged  herself  to 
her  own  satisfaction,  took  her  parasol  from  the 
stand  in  the  hall,  and  departed  on  business  bent. 

She  held  three  books  in  her  hand  —  the 
butcher's,  the  baker's,  and  the  greengrocer's. 
She  felt  in  a  cheerful  mood,  as  her  programme 
included  and  commenced  with  an  attack  on  the 
butcher — Casus  Belli — an  overcharge  made  on 
the  last  leg  of  mutton  but  one.  Having 
defeated  the  butcher,  and  tackled  the  other 
unfortunates  and  paid  them,  she  paused  near 
Mudie's  Library  as  if  in  thought.  Then  she 
made  direct  for  Southampton  Row  and  the 
office  of  her  brother,  where,  as  she  entered 
the  outer  office,  Bridge  water  was  emerging 
from  the  sanctum  of  his  master,  holding 
clutched  to  his  breast  an  armful  of  books 

and  papers. 

e 


34  FANNY  LAMBERT 

Bridgewater  would  have  delighted  the  heart 
of  John  Leech.  He  had  a  red  and  almost 
perfectly  round  face ;  his  spectacles  were 
round,  his  body  was  round,  his  eyes  were 
round,  and  the  expression  of  his  countenance, 
if  I  may  be  allowed  the  figure,  was  round. 
It  was  also  slightly  mazed ;  he  seemed  forever 
lost  in  a  mild  astonishment,  the  slightest  thing 
out  of  the  common,  heightened  this  expression 
of  chronic  astonishment  into  one  of  acute 
amazement.  A  rat  in  the  office,  a  fall  in  the 
funds,  a  clerk  giving  notice  to  leave,  any  of 
these  little  incidents  was  sufficient  to  wreathe 
the  countenance  of  Mr  Bridgewater  with  an 
expression  that  would  not  have  been  out  of 
place  had  he  been  gazing  upon  the  ruins  of 
Pompeii,  or  the  eruption  of  Mont  Pelee. 
He  had  scanty  white  hair  and  enormous  feet, 
and  was,  despite  his  bemazed  look,  a  very 
acute  old  gentleman  in  business  hours.  The 
inside  of  his  head  was  stuffed  with  facts  like 
a  Whitaker's  almanac,  and  people  turned  to 
him  for  reference  as  they  would  turn  to 
"Pratt's  Law  of  Highways"  or  "Archbold's 
Lunacy." 

Bridgewater   seeing    Miss    Hancock    enter, 
released  somewhat  his  tight  hold  on  the  books 


OMENS  85 

and  papers,  and  they  all  slithered  pell  mell  on 
to  the  floor.  She  nodded  to  him,  and,  stepping 
over  the  papers,  tapped  with  the  handle  of 
her  parasol  at  the  door  of  the  inner  office. 
Mr  Hancock  was  disengaged,  and  she  went 
in,  closing  the  door  behind  her  carefully  as 
though  fearful  of  some  secret  escaping. 

She  had  no  secret  to  communicate,  however, 
and  no  business  to  transact,  she  only  wanted 
a  loan  of  Bridgewater  for  an  hour  to  consult 
him  about  the  lease  of  a  house  at  Peckham. 
(Miss  Hancock  had  money  in  her  own  right.) 
Having  obtained  the  loan  and  stropped  her 
brother's  temper  to  a  fine  edge,  so  that  he 
was  sharp  with  the  clerks  and  irritable  with 
the  clients  till  luncheon  time,  Miss  Hancock 
took  herself  off,  saying  to  the  head  clerk  as 
she  passed  out,  "  I  want  you  to  come  round 
to  luncheon,  Bridgewater,  to  consult  you  about 
a  lease ;  my  brother  says  he  can  spare  you. 
Come  at  half-past  one  sharp ;  Good-day." 

"  Well  to  be  sure ! "  said  Bridgewater  scratch- 
ing his  encyclopaedic  head,  and  gazing  in  the 
direction  of  the  doorway  through  which  the 
lady  had  vanished. 


36  FANNY  LAMBERT 

CHAPTER  VI 

LAMBERT    V.    BEVAN 

Now  the  germinal  spot  of  this  veracious  history 
consists  in  the  fact  that  numbered  amongst 
Mr  James  Hancock's  most  prized  clients  was 
a  young  gentleman  of  the  name  of  Bevan ; 
the  gentleman,  in  short,  whom  Miss  Fanny 
Lambert  described  as  "  frightfully  rich  and 
a  beast." 

Mr  Charles  Maximilian  Bevan,  to  give  him 
his  full  title,  inhabited  a  set  of  chambers  in 
the  "Albany,"  midway  between  the  Piccadilly 
end  and  the  end  opening  upon  Vigo  Street. 

He  was  a  young  man  of  about  twenty-three 
years  of  age,  of  a  not  unpleasing  but  rather 
heavy  appearance,  absolutely  unconscious  of 
the  humour  that  lay  in  himself  or  in  the  world 
around  him,  and  possessed  of  a  fine,  furious, 
old-fashioned  temper ;  a  temper  that  would 
burst  out  over  an  ill-cooked  beef  steak  or  a 
missing  stud,  and  which  vented  itself  chiefly 
upon  his  valet  Strutt.  In  most  of  us  the  port 
of  our  ancestors  runs  to  gout ;  in  Mr  Bevan 
it  ran  to  temper. 


LAMBERT   v.   BEVAN  37 

He  was  a  bachelor.  Hamilton  Cox,  the 
author  of  "  The  Pillar  of  Salt,"  once  said  that 
the  Almighty  had  appointed  Charles  Bevan 
to  be  a  bachelor,  and  that  he  had  taken  Up 
his  appointment.  To  his  friends  it  seemed 
so,  and  it  seemed  a  pity,  for  he  was  an  orphan 
and  very  wealthy,  and  had  no  unpleasant  vices. 
He  possessed  Highshot  Towers  and  five 
thousand  acres  of  land  in  the  richest  part  of 
Buckinghamshire,  a  moor  in  Scotland  which 
he  let  each  autumn  to  a  man  from  Chicago, 
and  a  house  in  Mayfair  which  he  also  let. 

Mr  Bevan  was  not  exactly  a  miser,  but  he 
was  careful ;  no  cabman  ever  received  more 
from  him  than  his  legal  fare ;  he  studied  the 
city  news  in  the  Times  each  morning,  and 
Strutt  was  kept  informed  as  to  the  price  of 
Consols  by  the  state  of  his  master's  temper, 
also  as  to  the  dividends  declared  by  the 
Great  Northern,  South  Eastern,  London 
North  Western  Railways,  and  the  Glasgow 
Gas  Works,  in  all  of  which  concerns  Mr 
Bevan  was  a  heavy  holder. 

In  his  life  he  had  rarely  been  known  to 
give  a  penny  to  a  beggar  man,  yet  each  year 
he  gave  a  good  many  pounds  to  the  Charity 
Organisation  Society,  and  the  Hospitals, 


38 

feeling  sure  that  money  invested  in  these 
institutions  would  not  be  misspent,  and  might 
even,  perhaps,  bear  some  shadowy  dividend 
in  the  life  to  come. 

He  had  a  horror  of  cardsharpers,  poets, 
foreigners,  inferior  artists,  and  badly  dressed 
people  in  general — every  one,  in  fact,  beyond 
the  pale  of  what  he  was  pleased  to  call 
"  Respectability "-  —but  beyond  all  these  and 
above  all  these,  he  had  a  horror  of  spend- 
thrifts. 

The  Bevans  had  always  been  like  that ; 
there  had  been  drinking  Bevans,  and  fighting 
Bevans,  and  foolish  Bevans  of  various  de- 
scriptions, even  open-handed  Bevans,  but  there 
had  never  been  a  thoroughpaced  squandering 
Be  van.  Very  different  was  it  with  the 
Lamberts,  whose  estate  lay  contiguous  to 
that  of  Bevan,  down  in  Bucks.  How  the 
Lamberts  had  held  together  as  a  family  for 
four  hundred  years,  certain ;  through  the 
spacious  times  of  Elizabeth,  the  questionable 
time  of  Charles,  the  winter  of  the  Common- 
wealth ;  how  the  ship  of  Lambert  passed 
entire  between  the  Scylla  of  the  Cocoa  tree 
and  the  charybdis  of  Crockfords ;  how  it 
weathered  the  roaring  forties,  are  question 


LAMBERT  v.   BEVAN  39 

constituting  a  problem  indissoluble,  even  when 
we  take  into  account  the  known  capacity  of 
the  Lamberts  for  trimming,  swashbuckling 
and  good  fellowship  generally.  A  problem, 
however,  upon  which  the  present  story  will, 
perhaps,  cast  some  light. 

How  jolly  Jack  Lambert  played  with  Gerald 
Fiennes  till  he  lost  his  house,  his  horses,  his 
carriages,  and  his  deaf  and  dumb  negro  servant. 
How  with  a  burst  of  laughter  he  staked  his 
wife  and  won  back  his  negro,  staked  both,  and 
retrieved  his  horses  and  his  carriages,  and 
at  five  o'clock  of  a  bright  May  morning  rose 
from  the  table  having  eternally  broken  and 
ruined  Fiennes,  was  a  story  current  in  the 
days  when  William,  the  first  of  the  Bevans, 
was  a  sober  cloth  merchant  in  Wych  Street, 
and  Charles,  the  first  of  the  Stuarts,  held  his 
pleasant  Court  at  Windsor — Carpe  Diem,  it  was 
the  motto  of  jolly  Jack  Lambert.  Festina 
Lente  said  William  of  the  cloth-yard. 

The  houses  of  Bevan  and  Lambert  had 
never  agreed,  brilliancy  and  dulness  rarely 
do,  they  had  intermarried,  however,  with  the 
result  that  the  present  George  Lambert  and 
the  present  Charles  Bevan  were  cousins  of 
at  sort,  cousins  that  had  never  spoken  one  to 


40  FANNY  LAMBERT 

the  other,  and,  moreover,  at  the  present  moment, 
were  engaged,  as'  we  know,  in  active  litigation 
as  to  the  rights  of  fishing  in  an  all  but 
fishless  stream  some  twelve  feet  broad,  which 
separated  the  estates  and  the  kinsmen. 

Some  twelve  months  previously  it  appears 
Strutt  being  sent  down  to  Highshot  Towers 
to  superintend  some  alterations,  had  found  in 
the  gun-room  a  fishing-rod,  and  yielding  to  his 
cockney  instincts,  had  fished,  catching  by  some 
miracle  a  dilapidated  looking  jack. 

He  had  promptly  been  set  upon  and  beaten 
by  a  person  whom  Lambert  called  his  keeper, 
and  who,  according  to  Strutt,  swam  the  stream 
like  an  otter,  hit  him  in  the  eye,  broke  the  rod, 
and  vanished  with  the  jack. 

So  began  the  memorable  action  of  Bevan  v. 
Lambert,  which,  having  been  won  in  the 
Queen's  Bench  by  Charles  Bevan,  was  now  at 
the  date  of  our  story,  waiting  its  turn  to  appear 
before  the  Lords  Justices  of  Appeal.  It  was 
stated,  such  was  the  animus  with  which  this 
lawsuit  was  conducted,  that  George  Lambert 
was  cutting  down  timber  to  defray  the  costs  of 
the  lawyers,  a  fallacious  statement,  for  the 
estate  of  Lambert  was  mortgaged  beyond  the 
hope  of  redemption. 


41 


CHAPTER   VII 

THE   SEVAN    TEMPER 

ON  a  fine  morning,  two  days  after  Miss 
Lambert's  visit  to  Mr  Hancock,  Mr  Bevan 
entered  his  sitting-room  in  the  "Albany"  dressed 
for  going  out.  He  wore  a  tea  rose  in  his 
buttonhole,  and  Strutt,  who  followed  his  master, 
bore  in  his  hands  a  glossy  silk  hat  far  more 
carefully  than  if  it  had  been  a  baby. 

A  most  comfortably  furnished  and  tastefully 
upholstered  room  was  this  in  which  Charles 
Bevan  smoked  his  one  cigar  and  drank  his  one 
whisky  and  seltzer  before  retiring  to  bed  each 
night ;  everything  spoke  of  an  orderly  and 
well-regulated  mind ;  of  books  there  were  few 
in  bindings  sedate  as  their  subject  matter,  and 
they  had  the  air  of  prisoners  rarely  released 
from  the  narrow  cases  that  contained  them. 
On  the  walls  hung  a  series  of  Gillray's 
engravings  depicting  "  the  flagitious  absurdities 
of  the  French  during  their  occupation  of 
Egypt."  On  the  table  reposed  the  Field,  the 
Times,  and  the  Spectator  (uncut). 

"But  what   the  deuce  can  he  want?"  said 


42  FANNY   LAMBERT 

Charles,  who  was  holding  an  open  letter  in  his 
hand.  It  was  a  letter  from  the  family  lawyer 
asking  his  attendance  in  Southampton  Row  at 
his  earliest  convenience. 

"  Maybe,"  said  Strutt,  blowing  away  a 
speck  of  dust  that  had  dared  to  settle  on 

the   hat,    "  Maybe,    sir,    it's    about    the    law- 

•   » 
suit. 

Bevan  put  the  letter  in  his  pocket,  took  his 
hat  and  stick  from  the  faithful  Strutt  and 
departed. 

He  made  for  "  Brooks'." 

Mr  Bevan  patronised  "  Brooks' "  and  the 
1  'Reform." 

In  the  deserted  smoking-room  of  "  Brooks'" 
he  sat  down  to  write  some  letters,  and  here 
followeth  the  correspondence  of  a  modern 
Chesterfield. 

"  To  J.  HOLDS  WORTH, 
HAY  STREET,  PIMLICO. 

"  Sir, — The  thing  you  sent  for  my  inspection 
yesterday  is  no  use.  I'm  not  anxious  to  buy 
camels.  Please  do  not  trouble  any  more  in 
the  matter.  I  wasted  half  an  hour  over  this 
yesterday  and  my  time  is  valuable  if  the  time 
of  your  groom  is  not. — Yours  truly, 

"C.  M.  BEVAN." 


THE   BEVAN  TEMPER  43 

"To  MRS  NEURAPATH, 

Secretary  to  Neurapath's  Home  for 
Lost  and  Starving  Cats,  BERMONDSKY. 

"Madam, — In  answer  to  your  third  demand 
for  a  contribution  to  your  funds,  I  write  to  tell 
you  that  it  is  my  fixed  rule  never  to  contribute 
to  private  charities. — Yours,  etc., 

"  C.  M.  BEVAN." 

"  To  MESSRS  TEITZ  ; 

Breeches  Makers,  OXFORD  STREET. 
"  Sir, — Please  send  your  foreman  to  see  me  in 
the    '  Albany '   to-morrow   at    ten   A.M.       The 
breeches  don't  fit. — Yours,  etc., 

"  C.  M.  BEVAN." 

"  To  Miss  PAMELA  PURSEHOUSE, 

THE  ROOST,  ROOKHURST,  KENT. 
"  My  Dearest  Pam, — Just  a  line  scribbled  in 
a  hurry  to  say  I  will  be  down  in  a  few  days. 
I  am  writing  this  at  '  Brooks".  It's  a  beautiful 
morning,  but  I  expect  it  will  be  a  scorching 
day,  like  yesterday,  it's  always  the  way  with 
this  beastly  climate,  one  is  either  scorched,  or 
frozen,  or  drowned.  Just  as  I  am  writing  this, 
old  Sir  John  Blundell  has  come  into  the  room, 
he's  the  most  terrible  bore,  mad  on  roses  and 
can't  talk  of  anything  else,  he's  fidgetting  about 
behind  me  trying  to  attract  my  attention,  so  I 
have  to  keep  on  writing  and  pretending  not  to 
see  him.  I'm  sorry  the  buff  Orpington  cock  is 
dead,  was  he  the  one  who  took  the  first  prize  ? 
I'll  get  you  another  if  you  let  me  know  where 


44  FANNY  LAMBERT 

to  send.  I  think  there  are  some  buff 
Orpingtons  at  Highshot  but  am  not  sure,  I 
don't  take  any  interest  in  hens — only  of  course 
in  yours.  They  say  hen-farming  pays  on  a  big 
scale,  but  I  don't  see  where  the  profit  can 
come  in.  Thank  goodness,  that  old  fool 
Blundell  has  just  gone  out — now  I  must 
stop, — With  love,  ever  yours  (etc.,  etc.), 

"  CHARLEY." 

The  author  of  this  modern  Englishman's 
love  letter,  having  stamped  and  deposited 
his  correspondence  in  the  club  letter-box, 
entered  the  hansom  which  had  been  called  for 
him,  and  proceeded  to  his  solicitor,  James 
Hancock,  of  the  firm  of  Hancock  &  Hancock, 
Southampton  Row. 

When  Bevan  was  shown  in,  Mr  Hancock 
was  seated  at  his  desk  table,  writing  a  letter 
with  a  quill  pen.  He  tossed  his  spectacles 
up  on  his  forehead  and  held  out  his  hand. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  have  put  you  to  the  incon- 
venience of  calling,"  said  he,  crossing  his 
legs,  and  playing  with  a  paper  knife,  "  but 
the  fact  is,  I  have  received  a  communication 
from  the  other  side,  who  seem  anxious  to 
bring  this  affair  to  a  conclusion." 

"  Oh,  do  they  ?  "  said  Charles  Bevan. 

*'  The  fact  is,"  continued  the  elder  gentleman 


THE   BEVAN   TEMPER  45 

slapping  his  knee  with  the  flat  of  the  paper  knife 
as  he  spoke,  "  the  fact  is,  Mr  George  Lambert 
is  in  very  great  financial  straits,  and  if  the 
truth  were  known,  I  verily  believe  the  truth 
would  be  that  he  is  quite  insolvent." 

Charles  made  no  reply. 

"  But  he  will  go  on  fighting  the  case,  unless 
we  can  come  to  terms,  even  though  he  has  to 
borrow  money  for  the  purpose,  for  he  is  a 
very  litigious  man  this  Mr  George  Lambert, 
a  very  litigious  man  !  " 

"Well,  let  him  fight,"  cried  Charles;  "/ 
ask  nothing  better." 

"Still,"  said  the  old  lawyer,  "I  thought  it 
better  to  lay  before  you  the  suggestion  that 
has  come  from  the  other  side,  and  which  is 
simply  this—  He  paused,  drew  a  tortoise- 
shell  snuff-box  from  his  pocket,  and  took  a 
furious  pinch  of  snuff.  "Which  is  simply 
this,  that  each  party  pay  their  own  costs, 
and  that  the  fishing  rights  be  shared  equally. 
We  beat  them  in  the  Queen's  Bench,  but  when 
the  matter  comes  before  the  Court  of  Appeal, 
who  knows  but " 

"Pay  what^."  cried  Charles  Bevan.  "Pay 
my  own  costs  after  having  fought  so  long, 
and  nearly  beaten  this  pirate,  this  poacher! 


46  FANNY  LAMBERT 

Show  me  the  letter  containing  this  proposal, 
this  infamous  suggestion." 

"  Dear  me,  dear  me,  my  dear  sir,  pray  do 
not  take  the  matter  so  crookedly,"  cried  the 
man  of  law  lowering  his  spectacles  and 
beginning  to  mend  a  quill  pen  in  an  irritable 
manner.  "  There  is  nothing  infamous  in  this 
proposal,  and  indeed  it  reached  me  not  through 
the  mediumship  of  a  letter,  but  of  a  young  lady. 
Mr  George  Lambert's  daughter  called  upon  me 
in  person,  a  most — er — charming  young  lady. 
She  gave  me  to  understand  from  her  conversa- 
tion— her  most  artless  conversation — that  her 
unfortunate  father  is  on  the  brink,  the  verge, 
I  may  say  the  verge  of  ruin.  But  he  himself 
does  not  see  it,  pig-headed  man  that  he  is. 
In  fact  she,  the  young  lady  herself,  does  not 
seem  to  see  it.  Dear  me,  dear  me,  their  con- 
dition makes  me  shudder." 

"When  did  she  call  ?  "  asked  Bevan. 

"Two  days  ago,"  blurted  out  the  old  lawyer 
splitting  the  quill  and  nearly  cutting  his  finger 
with  the  penknife. 

"  Why  was  I  not  informed  sooner  of  this 
disgraceful  proposition,"  demanded  Bevan. 

"  I    declare  I  have  been  so  busy '    said 

the  other. 


THE   BEVAN   TEMPER  47 

"  Well,  tell  George  Lambert,  I  will  fight  as 
long  as  I  have  teeth  to  fight  with,  and  if  I  lose 
the  action  I'll  break  him  anyhow,"  foamed 
Charles  who  was  now  in  the  old-fashioned 
port-wine  temper,  which  was  an  heirloom  in 
the  Bevan  family.  "  I'll  buy  up  his  mortgages 
and  foreclose,  tell  his  wretched  daughter " 

"Mr  Bevan,"  suddenly  interposed  the 
lawyer,  "  Miss  Fanny  Lambert  is  a  most 
charming  lady  for  whom  I  have  a  deep  respect 
—I  may  say  a  very  deep  respect — the  suggestion 
came  from  her  informally.  I  doubt  indeed  if 
Mr  George  Lambert  would  listen  to  any  pro- 
posals for  an  amicable  settlement,  he  declares 
you  have  treated  him,  to  use  his  expression 
—  er  — not  as  one  gentleman  should  treat 
another." 

Charles  turned  livid. 

"Where  does  this  Lambert  live  now?" 

"  At  present  he  resides  I  believe,  at  his 
town  house  'The  Laurels,'  Highgate-  — 
Why!  Mr  Bevan- 

Charles  had  risen. 

"  He  said  I  was  not  a  gentleman,  did  he? 
and  you  listened  to  him,  I  suppose,  and  agreed 
with  him,  and  you — no  matter,  I'll  be  my  own 
solicitor,  I'll  go  and  see  him,  and  tell  him  he 


48  FANNY   LAMBERT 

ought  to  be  ashamed  of  tampering  with  my 
business  people  through  the  medium  of  his 
daughter.  Yes,  we'll  see — '  The  Laurels ' 
Highgate." 

"  Mr  Bevan,  Mr  Bevan ! "  cried  old  James 
Hancock  in  despair. 

But  Mr  Bevan  was  gone,  strutting  out  like  an 
enraged  turkey-cock  through  the  outer  office. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  have  but  made  matters  worse, 
I  am  afraid  I  have  but  made  matters  worse," 
moaned  the  peace-loving  Mr  Hancock,  rubbing 
his  shrivelled  hands  together  in  an  agony  of 
discomfiture,  whilst  Charles  Bevan  hailed  a 
cab  outside,  determined  to  have  it  out  man  to 
man  with  this  cousin  who  had  dared  to  say 
that  a  Bevan  had  behaved  in  a  dishonourable 
manner. 


CHAPTER  VIII 


UP  in  Highgate  an  hour  later  you  might  have 
seen  a  hansom  driving  about,  pausing  here  and 
there  to  ask  of  policemen,  pedestrians,  and 
others  for  "  The  Laurels." 


AT   "THE  LAURELS"  49 

41  There's  a'  many  Laurels,"  said  the  milk- 
man, who  was  also  the  first  director,  and  so 
after  awhile  Mr  Bevan  found  to  his  cost. 

But  at  last  they  found,  with  the  aid  of  a  local 
directory,  the  right  one,  a  spacious  house  built 
of  red  brick  seen  through  an  avenue  of  lime 

O 

trees  all  abuzz  with  bees. 

There  was  no  sign  of  life  in  the  little  gate 
lodge,  and  the  entrance  gate  was  pushed  back  ; 
the  orderly  eye  of  Charles  Bevan  noticed  that 
it  was  half  off  its  hinges ;  also,  that  the  weeds 
in  the  avenue  were  rampant. 

A  laburnum  had  pushed  its  way  through  the 
limes,  and  a  peony,  as  large  almost  as  a 
cabbage,  had  laid  its  head  on  the  avenue-way, 
presenting  a  walk-over-me-/-dont-care  appear- 
ance, quite  in  accordance  with  the  general 
^aspect  of  things. 

The  hansom  drew  up  at  the  door  and  the 
traveller  from  Southampton  Row  flung  away 
his  cigar  end,  alighted,  and  ran  up  the  three 
steps  leading  to  the  porch.  He  rang  the  bell, 
and  then  stood  wondering  at  the  luxuriance 
of  the  wisteria  that  overspread  the  porch, 
and  contemplating  the  hind  hocks  of  the  cab- 
horse  which  had  been  fired. 

What  he  was  about  to  do  or  say  when  he 
D 


50  FANNY  LAMBERT 

found  himself  in  the  presence  of  his  enemy  was 
not  very  clear  to  the  mind  of  Mr  Bevan.  What 
did  occur  to  him  was  that  George  Lambert 
would  have  the  advantage  over  him  in  the  inter- 
view, seeing  that  he  would  be  in  his  own  house 
— on  his  own  dunghill,  so  to  speak. 

He  might  have  got  into  the  hansom  and 
returned  to  town,  but  that  would  have  been 
an  admission  to  himself  that  he  had  committed 
a  fault,  and  to  admit  themselves  in  fault,  even 
to  themselves,  was  never  a  way  with  the 
Bevans. 

So  he  rang  and  waited,  and  rang  again. 

Presently  shuffling  footsteps  sounded  from 
behind  the  door  which  opened  some  two  inches, 
disclosing  a  pale,  blue  eye,  part  of  a  nose,  and 
an  uncertain  coloured  fringe. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  "  cried  a  voice  through 
the  crack. 

"Does  Mr  George  Lambert  live  here?" 

"  He  does,  but  he's  from  home." 

"  Dear     me,"    murmured     Charles,     whose 

i 

curiosity  was  now  greatly  aroused  by  the 
neglected  aspect  of  the  place  and  the  mysterious 
personage  hidden  by  the  door.  He  felt  a 
great  desire  to  penetrate  further  into  the  affairs 
of  his  enemy  and  see  what  was  to  be  seen. 


AT  "THE   LAURELS"  51 

"Is  Miss  Lambert  in?" 

"Yus." 

"  Then  give  her  my  card,  please.  I  would 
like  to  speak  to  her." 

The  person  behind  the  door  undid  the  chain, 
satisfied  evidently  by  Bevan's  voice  and 
appearance  that  he  was  not  a  dun  or  a  robber. 
The  door  opened  disclosing  a  servant  maid, 
very  young  and  very  dirty. 

This  ash-cat  took  the  piece  of  pasteboard, 
and  made  a  pretence  of  reading  it,  invited 
Charles  to  enter,  and  then  closing  the  door, 
and  barring  it  this  time  as  if  to  keep  him  in, 
should  he  try  to  escape,  led  the  way  across 
a  rather  empty  hall  to  a  library. 

Here  she  invited  him  to  sit  down  upon  a 
chair,  having  first  dusted  it  with  her  apron, 
and  declaring  that  she  would  send  Miss  Fanny 
to  him  in  "a  minit,"  vanished,  and  left  him 
to  his  meditations. 

"  Most  extraordinary  place,"  said  Charles, 
glancing  round  at  the  books  in  their 
cases.  "  Most  extraordinary  place  I  ever 
entered." 

As  he  looked  about  him,  he  heard  the 
youthful  servant's  voice  raised  now  to  its 
highest  pitch,  and  calling  "  Miss  Fanny,  Miss 


52  FANNY   LAMBERT 

Fanny,  Miss  F-a-a-anny "  and  dying  away 
as  if  in  back  passages. 

The  library  was  evidently  much  inhabited 
by  the  Lamberts ;  it  was  pleasantly  perfumed 
with  tobacco,  and  in  the  grate  lay  the  expiring 
embers  of  a  morning  fire.  The  Lamberts 
were  evidently  not  of  the  order  of  people  who 
extinguish  their  fires  on  the  first  of  May. 
There  were  whips  and  fishing-rods,  and  a 
gun  or  two  here  and  there,  and  books  every- 
where about,  besides  those  on  the  shelves. 
The  morning  paper  lay  spread  open  on  the 
floor,  where  it  had  been  cast  by  the  last  reader, 
and  on  the  floor  lay  other  things,  which  in  most 
houses  are  to  be  found  on  tables,  envelopes 
crumpled  up,  letters,  and  other  trifles. 

On  a  little  table  by  the  window  grew  an 
orange-tree  in  a  flower-pot,  bearing  oranges  as 
large  as  marrow-fat  peas  ;  through  the  half-open 
window  came  wasps  in  and  out,  the  perfume 
of  mignonette  and  the  murmur  of  distant  bees. 

He  came  to   the   window   and   looked   out. 

Outside  lay  the  ruins  of  a  garden  bathed 
in  the  golden  light  of  summer,  the  light  that 

"  Speaks  wide  and  loud 
From  deeps  blown  clean  of  cloud, 
As  though  day's  heart  were  proud 
And  heaven's  were  glad." 


AT   "THE   LAURELS"  53 

Beyond  lay  a  paddock  in  whose  centre  lay 
the  wraith  of  a  tennis  lawn ;  the  net  hung 
shrivelled  between  the  tottering  poles,  and 
close  to  the  net  he  saw  the  forlorn  figure  of 
a  girl  playing  what  seemed  a  fantastic  game 
of  tennis  all  alone. 

She  would  hit  the  ball  into  the  air  and 
strike  it  back  when  it  fell ;  if  it  went  over 
the  net  she  would  jump  after  it. 

Now  appeared  the  slattern  maid,  card 
between  finger  and  thumb,  picking  her  way 
like  a.  cat  along  the  tangled  garden  path  in 
the  direction  of  the  girl. 

Mr  Bevan  turned  away  from  the  window 
and  looked  at  the  books  lining  the  wall,  his 
eye  travelling  from  Humboldt's  works  to 
the  tooled  back  of  Milton — he  was  trying  to 
recollect  who  Schopenhauer  was — when  of  a 
sudden  the  door  opened  and  an  amazingly 
pretty  girl  of  the  old-fashioned  school  of 
beauty  entered  the  room.  She  was  dark, 
and  she  came  into  the  room  laughing,  yet 
with  a  half-frightened  air  as  if  fearful  of  being 
caught  missing  from  some  old  canvas. 

"You  won't  tell,"  said  she  as  they  shook 
hands  like  intimate  acquaintances.  "If  father 
knew  I  had  asked  Mr  Hancock,  you  know 


54  FANNY   LAMBERT 

what,  he'd  kill  me ;  I  really  believe  he  would." 
She  put  down  her  tennis  racquet  on  the 
table,  her  hat  she  had  left  outside,  and 
evidently  in  a  hurry,  to  judge  by  the  delight- 
ful disorder  of  her  hair. 

Mr  Bevan,  who  was  trying  to  stiffen  his 
lip  and  appear  very  formal,  had  taken  his  seat 
on  a  low  chair  which  made  him  feel  dwarfed 
and  ridiculous.  He  had  also,  unfortunately, 
left  his  hat  on  the  table  some  yards  away, 
and  so  had  nothing  with  which  to  occupy  his 
hands ;  he  was,  therefore,  entirely  at  the 
mercy  of  Miss  Lambert,  who  had  taken  an 
armchair  near  by,  and  was  now  chattering 
to  him  with  the  familiarity,  almost,  of  a  sister. 

"It  seems  so  fortunate,  you  know,"  said  she 
suddenly,  discarding  a  discussion  about  the 
weather.  "It  seems  so  fortunate  that  idea  of 
mine  of  speaking  to  Mr  Hancock.  I  hate 
fighting  with  people,  but  father  loves  it ;  he'd 
fight  with  himself,  I  think,  if  he  could  find 
no  one  else,  and  still,  if  you  knew  him,  he's 
the  sweetest-tempered  person  in  the  world, 
he  is,  he  would  do  anything  for  anybody,  he 
would  lay  his  life  down  for  a  friend.  But 
you  will  know  him  now,  now  that  that  terrible 
affair  about  the  fish  stream  is  settled." 


AT  "THE   LAURELS"  55 

Mr  Bevan  swallowed  rapidly  and  cast  frantic 
glances  at  his  hat.  Had  Miss  Lambert  been 
of  the  ordinary  type  of  girl  he  might  possibly 
have  intimated  that  the  fish  stream  business 
was  not  so  settled  as  she  supposed,  but  with 
this  sweet-tongued  and  friendly  beauty,  it 
was  impossible.  He  felt  deeply  exasperated  at 
the  false  position  in  which  he  found  himself, 
and  was  endeavouring  to  prepare  some  reply 
of  a  non-committal  character  when,  of  a  sudden, 
his  eye  caught  a  direful  sight,  which  for  a 
moment  made  him  forget  both  fish  stream 
and  false  position — the  little  boot  of  Miss 
Lambert  peeping  from  beneath  her  skirt  was 
old  and  broken. 

"  I  would  not  deny  him  anything,  goodness 
knows,"  continued  Fanny  Lambert,  as  if  she 
were  talking  of  a  child.  "  But  this  action 
costs  such  a  lot,  and  there  are  so  many  people 
he  could  fight  cheaply  with  if  he  wants  to," 
she  broke  into  an  enchanting  little  laugh.  "  I 
think,  really,  it's  the  expense  that  makes  him 
think  so  much  of  it ;  he  has  a  horror  of  cheap 
things." 

"  Cheap  things  are  never  much  good,"  con- 
ceded Mr  Bevan,  upon  whose  mind  a  dreadful 
sort  of  imbecility  had  now  fallen,  his  will 


56  FANNY  LAMBERT 

cried  out  frantically  to  his  intellect  for  help, 
and  received  none.  Here  had  he  come  to 
demand  explanations,  to  put  his  foot  down — 
alas !  what  is  the  will  of  man  beside  the 
beauty  of  a  woman  ? 

"  That's  what  father  says,"  said  Fanny. 
"  But  as  for  me,  I  love  them,  that  is  to  say 
bargains,  you  know." 

The  door  burst  open  and  a  sort  of  poodle 
walked  in,  he  was  not  exactly  Russian  and 
not  exactly  French,  he  had  points  of  an  Irish 
water  -  spaniel.  Bevan  gazed  at  him  and 
marvelled. 

Having  inspected  the  pattern  of  the  visitor's 
trousers,  and  seeming  therewith  content  Boy- 
Boy — such  was  his  name — flung  himself  on 
the  floor  and  into  sleep  beside  his  mistress. 

"He  sleeps  all  day,"  said  Fanny,  "and  I 
wish  he  wouldn't,  for  he  spends  the  whole 
night  barking  and  rushing  after  the  cats  in 
the  garden.  Isn't  he  just  like  a  door  mat,  and 
doesn't  he  snore  ?  " 

"He  certainly  does." 

"  I  got  him  for  three  and  sixpence  and  an 
old  pair  of  boots  from  one  of  those  travelling 
men  who  grind  scissors  and  things,"  said  Miss 
Lambert,  looking  lovingly  at  her  bargain.  "  He 


AT   "THE   LAURELS"  57 

was  half  starved  and  so  thin.  He  ate  a  whole 
leg  of  mutton  the  first  day  we  had  him." 

"  That  was  very  unwise,"  said  Mr  Bevan,  who 
always  shone  on  the  topic  of  dogs  or  horses ; 
''you  should  never  give  dogs  much  meat." 

"He  took  it,"  said  Fanny.  "  It  was  so 
clever  of  him,  he  hid  it  in  the  garden  and 
buried  the  bone — who  is  that  at  the  door,  is 
that  you,  Susannah  ?  " 

"  Luncheon  is  ready,  Miss,"  said  the  voice 
of  Susannah,  who  spoke  in  a  muted  tone  as 
if  she  were  announcing  some  unsavoury  fact 
of  which  she  was  half  ashamed. 

Charles  Bevan  rose  to  go. 

"  Oh,  but  you'll  stay  to  luncheon,"  said  Fanny. 

"I  really — I  have  an  engagement  —  that 
is  a  cab  waiting."  Then  addressing  his 
remarks  to  the  eyes  of  Miss  Lambert,  "  I 
shall  be  delighted  if  such  a  visitation  does 
not  bore  you." 

"  Not  a  bit — Susannah,  hang  Mr  Bevan's 
hat  up  in  the  hall.  Come  this  way." 

Mr  Bevan  followed  his  hostess  across  the 
hall  to  the  breakfast-room ;  as  he  followed  he 
heard  with  a  shudder  Susannah  attempting  to 
hang  his  hat  on  the  high  hall  rack,  and  the  hat 
falling  off  and  being  pursued  about  the  floor. 


58  FANNY   LAMBERT 

Luncheon  was  laid  in  a  free-handed  and 
large-hearted  manner.  Three  whitings  on  a 
dish  of  Sheffield  plate  formed  the  piece  de 
resistance,  there  was  jam  which  appeared 
frankly  in  a  pot  pictured  with  plums,  but  in 
the  centre  of  the  table  stood  a  vase  of 
Venetian  glass  filled  with  roses. 

As  they  took  their  seats  Susannah,  who 
had  apparently  been  seized  with  an  inspira- 
tion, appeared  conveying  a  bottle  of  Bellinger 
in  one  hand,  and  a  bottle  of  Gold-water  in 
the  other. 

"  I  brought  them  from  the  cellar,  Miss," 
said  the  maid  with  a  side  glance  at  Charles 
—she  was  a  good-natured-looking  girl  when 
not  defending  the  hall  door,  but  her  under 
jaw  seemed  like  the  avenue  gate,  half  off  its 
hinges,  and  her  intellect  to  be  always  oozing 
away  through  her  half-open  mouth.  "They 
were  the  best  I  could  find." 

"That's  right,  Susannah,"  said  her  mistress; 
"  try  if  you  can  get  one  of  those  little  bottles 
of  port,  the  one's  with  red  seals  on  them  and 
cobwebs  ;  and  close  the  door." 

Mr  Bevan  opened  the  champagne  and 
helped  himself,  Miss  Lambert  announcing  the 
fact  that  she  was  a.  teetotaler. 


AT  "THE   LAURELS"  59 

"There  is  a  man  in  the  kitchen,"  said  she, 
after  an  apology  for  the  general  disorder  of 
things,  and  for  the  whiting  which  were  but 
indifferently  cooked.  "  James,  you  know,  and 
when  he  is  in  the  kitchen  whilst  meals  are 
being  prepared  Susannah  loses  her  head  and 
often  spoils  things.  Father  generally  sends 
him  out  to  dig  in  the  garden  whilst  she  is 
cooking.  I  didn't  send  him  to-day  because 
he  won't  take  orders  from  me,  only  from  father. 
He  says  a  man  cannot  serve  two  masters ;  he 
is  always  making  proverbs  and  things,  his 
father  was  a  stationer  and  he  has  written 
poetry.  He  might  have  been  anything  only 
for  his  wife,  he  told  me  so  the  other  night. 
It  does  seem  such  a  pity." 

"Yes,"  said  Charles  tentatively,  wondering 
who  "James,  you  know"  might  be. 

"What  is  he?" 

"  He's  in  the  law,"  said  Miss  Lambert 
cautiously,  then  after  a  moment's  hesitation, 
"  I  don't  see  why  I  shouldn't  tell  you,  you 
are  our  cousin.  Father  had  a  debt  and— 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  he's— 

"Yes,  he  has  come  to  take  possession  as 
they  call  it." 

Mr  Bevan  laid  down  his  knife  and  fork. 


60  FANNY  LAMBERT 

"  Good  gracious !  " 

"  I  never  cried  so  much  as  when  he  came," 
said  Fanny,  stroking  the  head  of  Boy- Boy, 
who  was  resting  beside  her ;  "  it  seemed  so 
terrible.  I  never  knew  what  a  comfort  he 
would  turn  out ;  he  fetches  the  coals  for 
Susannah  and  pumps  the  water.  It  sounds 
strange  to  say  it,  but  I  don't  know  what  we 
should  do  without  him  now." 

"Oh,  you  poor  child,"  thought  Charles, 
"how  much  you  must  have  suffered  at  the 
hands  of  that  pig-headed  fool  of  a  father  of 
yours — to  think  of  a  good  estate  coming  to 
this ! " 

"  Tell  me,"  he  said  aloud,  "  how  long  has 
that  man  been  here  ? " 

"A  week,"  said  Fanny,  "but  it  seems  a 
year." 

"Who — er — put  him  in." 

"A    Mr  Isaacs.** 

"What  was  the  debt  for,  Cousin  Fanny?" 

"We  went  to  Paris." 

"  I  don't " 

"  I  wanted  to  go  to  Paris,  and  father  said 
I  should,  but  he  would  have  to  think  first  about 
the  money.  Then  he  went  into  the  library, 
and  took  me  on  his  knee,  and  smoked  a  pipe. 


AT   "THE  LAURELS"  61 

He  always  gets  money  when  he  sits  and  has 
what  he  calls  a  'good  think'  and  smokes  a 
pipe.  So  he  got  the  money  and  we  went 
to  Paris.  We  had  a  lovely  time ! " 

"  And  then,"  said  Bevan  with  an  expression 
on  his  face  as  if  he  were  listening  to  a  fairy 
tale  which  he  had  to  believe,  "  I  suppose 
Mr  Isaacs  applied  for  his  money?" 

"  He  sent  most  impertinent  letters,"  said 
Fanny,  "  and  I  told  father  not  to  mind  them, 
then  James  came." 

Mr  Bevan  went  on  with  his  luncheon,  all 
his  anger  against  his  cousin,  George  Lambert, 
had  vanished.  Anger  is  impossible  to  a  sane 
mind  when  the  object  of  that  anger  turns 
out  to  be  a  lunatic. 

He  went  on  with  his  luncheon ;  though 
the  whiting  were  indifferently  cooked,  the 
champagne  was  excellent,  and  his  hostess 
exquisite.  It  was  hard  to  tell  which  was 
more  attractive,  her  face  or  her  voice,  for  the 
voice  of  Miss  Lambert  was  one  of  those  fatal 
voices  that  we  hear  perhaps  twice  in  a  life- 
time, and  never  forget,  perfectly  modulated 
golden,  soothing — maddening. 


62  FANNY  LAMBERT 

CHAPTER   IX 

11  WHAT   TALES    ARE   THESE  ?  " 

"Now  tell  me,"  said  Mr  Bevan,  they  were 
walking  in  the  garden  after  luncheon,  "tell 
me,  Cousin  Fanny" — Miss  Lambert,  had 
vanished  with  the  Bellinger — "  don't  you  think 
your  father  is  a  little  bit — er — extravagant  ?  " 

"  He  may  be  a  bit  extravagant,"  murmured 
Fanny,  plucking  a  huge  daisy  and  putting  it 
in  her  belt.  "  But  then — he  is  such  a  dear, 
and  I  know  he  tries  to  economise  all  he  can,  he 
sold  the  carriage  and  horse  only  a  month  ago, 
and  just  look  at  the  garden !  he  wont  go  to  the 
expense  of  a  gardener  but  does  it  all  himself; 
it  would  be  disgraceful  only  it's  so  lovely,  with 
all  the  things  running  wild  ;  see,  here  is  one  of 
his  garden  gloves." 

She  picked  a  glove  out  of  a  thorn  bush  and 
kissed  it,  and  put  it  in  her  pocket. 

"  He  does  the  garden  himself! " 

"  He  and  James." 

"  You  don't  mean " 

"  Mr  Isaacs'  man,  they  have  dug  up  a  lot  of 
ground  over  there  and  planted  asparagus. 


"WHAT   TALES   ARE   THESE?"  63 

James  was  a  gardener  once,  but  as  I  have 
told  you,  he  had  misfortunes  and  had  to  take 
to  the  law.  He  is  awfully  poor,  and  his  wife 
is  ill ;  they  live  in  a  little  street  near  Artesian 
Road,  and  father  has  been  to  see  her ;  he  came 
with  me,  and  we  brought  her  some  wine ;  I 
carried  it  in  a  basket.  See,  is  not  that  a 
beautiful  rose  ? "  she  smiled  at  the  rose,  and 
Charles  could  not  but  admire  her  beauty. 

"  And  then,"  resumed  Fanny,  the  smile 
fading  as  the  wind  turned  the  rose's  face  away, 
"father  is  so  unfortunate,  all  the  people  he 
lends  money  to  wont  pay  him  back,  and  stocks 
and  shares  and  things  go  up  and  down,  and 
always  the  wrong  way,  so  he  says,  and  he  gets 
into  such  a  rage  with  the  house  because  he 
can't  mortgage  it — it  was  left  in  trust  for  me— 
and  we  cant  let  it,  so  we  have  to  live  in  it." 

"  Why  can  you  not  let  it  ?  " 

"  Because  of  the  ghost." 

"  Good  gracious  goodness !  "  gobbled  Charles, 
taking  the  cigar  from  his  mouth.  "What 
nonsense  are  you  talking,  Cousin  Fanny  ? 
Ghost!  there  are  no  such  things  as  ghosts." 

" Areril  there?"  said  Fanny.  "  I  wish  you 
saw  our  one." 

"  Do   you  really  mean  to   try    to  make  me 


64  FANNY   LAMBERT 

believe "  cried  Charles,  then  he  foundered, 

tied  up  in  his  own  vile  English. 

"  We  did  let  it  once,  a  year  ago,  to  a  Major 
Sawyer,"  said  Fanny,  and  she  smiled  down  the 
garden  path  at  some  presumably  pleasant 
vision.  "  It  was  in  May;  we  let  it  to  him  for 
three  months  and  went  down  to  Ramsgate  to 
economise.  Major  Sawyer  moved  in  on  a 
Friday;  I  remember  that,  for  the  next  day 
was  Saturday,  and  I  shall  never  forget 
that  Saturday. 

"  We  were  sitting  at  breakfast,  when  a 
telegram  was  brought,  it  was  from  the  Major, 
and  it  was  from  the  South  Kensington  Hotel ; 
it  said,  as  well  as  I  can  remember,  '  Call  with- 
out a  moment's  delay.' ' 

"  Of  course  we  thought  '  The  Laurels '  were 
burnt  down,  and  you  can  fancy  the  fright  we 
were  in,  for  it's  not  insured  —  at  least  the 
furniture  isn't." 

"  Not  insured ! "  groaned  Charles. 

"  No ;  father  says  houses  never  catch  fire  if 
they  are  not  insured,  and  he  wouldn't  trust 
himself  not  to  set  it  on  fire  if  it  was  insured, 
so  it's  not  insured." 

"Go  on." 

"  Let  us   sit  down   on   this  seat.     Well,  of 


"WHAT   TALES   ARE   THESE?"  65 

course  we  thought  we  were  ruined,  and  father 
was  perfectly  wild  to  get  up  to  town  and  know 
the  worst,  he  can't  stand  suspense.  He 
wanted  to  take  a  special  train,  and  there  was 
a  terrible  scene  at  the  station ;  you  know  we 
have  Irish  blood  in  us :  his  mother  was  Irish, 
and  Fanny  Lambert,  my  great-grandmother, 
the  one  that  hung  herself,  was  an  Irishwoman. 
There  was  a  terrible  scene  at  the  station, 
because  they  wouldn't  take  father's  cheque 
for  the  extra  twenty  -  five  pounds  for  the 
special  train.  '  I  tell  you  I'm  ruined*  said 
father,  but  the  station-master,  a  horrible  little 
man  with  whiskers,  said  he  couldn't  help  that. 
Oh !  the  world  is  horribly  cold  and  cruel," 
said  Fanny,  drawing  closer  to  her  companion, 
"when  one  is  in  a  strange  place,  where  one 
doesn't  know  people.  Once  father  gets  to 
know  people  he  can  do  anything  with  them,  for 
every  one  loves  him.  The  wife  of  the  hotel- 
keeper  where  we  stayed  in  Paris  wept  when 
we  had  to  go  away  without  our  luggage." 

"  I  should  think  so." 

"  You  see  we  only  took  half  of  the  money 
we  got  from  Mr  Isaacs  to  Paris ;  we  locked 
half  of  it  up  in  the  bureau  in  the  library  for 
fear  we  would  spend  it,  then  when  the  fort- 

E 


66  FANNY  LAMBERT 

night  was  up  we  hadn't  enough  for  the  bill. 
Father  wanted  to  leave  Boy- Boy,  but  they 
said  they'd  sooner  keep  the  luggage.  They 
were  very  nice  over  it,  the  hotel-keeper  and 
his  wife,  but  people  are  horrid  when  they  don't 
know  one. 

"  Well,  we  came  by  a  later  train,  and  found 
Major  Sawyer  waiting  for  us  at  the  South 
Kensington  Hotel.  He  was  such  a  funny 
old  man  with  fiery  eyes  and  white  hair  that 
stood  up.  We  did  not  see  Mrs  Sawyer,  so 
we  supposed  she  had  been  burnt  in  the  fire  ; 
but  we  scarcely  had  time  to  think,  for  the 
Major  began  to  abuse  father  for  having  let 
him  such  a  house. 

"  I  was  awfully  frightened,  and  father 
listened  to  the  abuse  quite  meekly,  you  see 
he  thought  Mrs  Sawyer  was  burnt.  Then 
it  came  out  that  there  had  been  no  fire,  and 
1  saw  father  lift  up  his  head,  and  put  his 
chin  out,  and  I  stopped  my  ears  and  shut 
my  eyes." 

"  I  suppose  he  gave  it  to  old  Sawyer." 

"  Didn't  he !  Mrs  Sawyer  told  me  after- 
wards that  the  Major  had  never  been  spoken 
to  so  before  since  he  left  school,  and  that  it 
had  done  him  a  world  of  good — poor  old  thing !  " 


"WHAT   TALES   ARE   THESE?"  61 

11  But  what  was  it  all  about — I  mean  what 
made  him  leave  the  house?" 

"  Why,  the  ghost,  to  be  sure.  The  first  night 
he  was  in  the  house  he  went  poking  about 
looking  for  burglars,  and  saw  it  or  heard  it, 
I  forget  which  ;  they  say  he  did  not  stop 
running  till  he  reached  the  police  station,  and 
that's  nearly  a  mile  away,  and  he  wouldn't 
come  back  but  took  a  cab  to  the  hotel  in  his 
pyjamas.  But  the  funny  thing  is,  that  ever 
since  the  day  father  abused  him,  he  has  been 
our  best  friend ;  he's  helped  us  in  money 
matters  lots  of  times,  and  he  always  sends 
us  hares  and  things  when  he  goes  shooting. 
The  ghost  always  brings  us  luck  when  she 
can — always." 

"  You  believe  in  Luck  ?  " 

"  I  believe  in  everything,  so  does  father." 

"And  this  ghost,  it's  a  'she'  you  said,  I 
think?" 

"  It's  Fanny  Lambert." 

"Oh!" 

"My  great-grandmother." 

"Tell  me  about  her,"  said  Charles,  lighting 
a  new  cigar  and  leaning  back  luxuriously  on 
the  seat. 

The     seat    was     under    a     chestnut     tree, 


68  FANNY  LAMBERT 

before  them  lay  a  little  wilderness,  sunflowers 
unburst  from  the  bud,  stocks,  and  clove 
pinks. 

In  its  centre  stood  a  moss-grown  sun-dial 
bearing  this  old  dial  inscription  in  Latin,  "The 
hours  pass  and  are  numbered."  From  this 
wilderness  of  a  garden  came  the  drone  of 
bees,  a  dreamy  sound  that  seemed  to  refute 
the  motto  upon  the  dial. 

"  She  lived,"  said  Fanny,  "  a  hundred,  or 
maybe  two  hundred,  years  ago ;  anyhow  it 
was  in  the  time  of  the  Regency — and  I  wish 
to  goodness  I  had  lived  then." 

"Why?" 

"  Oh,  it  must  have  been  such  fun." 

"How  do  you  know  about  the  time  of  the 
Regency  ?  " 

"  I  have  read  about  it  in  the  library,  there 
are  a  lot  of  old  books  about  it,  and  one  of  them 
is  in  handwriting,  not  in  print.  You  know  in 
those  times  the  Lamberts  lived  here  at  '  The 
Laurels,'  just  as  we  do,  that's  what  makes  the 
house  so  old ;  and  the  Prince  Regent  used  to 
drive  up  here  in  a  carriage  and  pair  of  coal- 
black  horses.  He  was  in  love  with  Mrs 
Lambert,  and  she  was  in  love  with  him.  I 
don't  wonder  at  her." 


"WHAT   TALES   ARE   THESE? "69 

"Well,  you  ought  to  wonder  at  her,", said 
Charles  in  a  hectoring  voice,  blowing  a  cloud 
of  smoke  at  a  bumble-bee  that  had  alighted 
on  Fanny's  dress,  and  was  rubbing  its  hands 
together  as  if  in  satisfaction  at  the  prosperous 
times  and  the  plenty  of  flowers. 

"  Don't  blow  smoke  at  the  poor  thing.  Isn't 
he  fat ! — there,  he  is  gone.  Why  ought  I  to 
wonder  at  her  ?  " 

"  Because  she  was  married." 

"Why  shouldn't  she  be  married?" 

"  Ahem  !  "  said  Charles,  clearing  his  throat. 

"Why?" 

"  I  meant  to  say  that  she  should  not  have 
loved  the  Prince." 

"Why  not?  he  was  awfully  good  to  them. 
Do  you  know  George,  Fanny's  husband, 
must  have  been  very  like  father ;  he  was  like 
him  in  face,  for  we  have  a  miniature  of  him, 
but  he  was  like  him  in  other  ways,  too. 
He  would  sit  up  at  Crockfords — what  was 
Crockfords  ?  " 

"A  kind  of  club,   I   believe." 

"He  would  sit  up  at  Crockfords  playing 
cards  all  night,  and  he  killed  a  man  once  by 
hitting  him  over  the  head  with  a  poker;  the 
jury  said  the  man  died  of  apoplexy,  but  he 


70  FANNY  LAMBERT 

kept  the  man's  wife  and  children  always 
afterwards,  and  that  is  just  what  father  would 
have  done." 

"I  know,"  said  Charles,  "at  least  I  can 
imagine  him ;  but,  all  the  same,  I  don't  think 
you  know  what  marriage  is." 

"Oh  yes,   I   do!" 

"What  is  it,  then?" 

"  It's  a  blessed  state,"  said  Fanny,  breaking 
into  a  joyous  laugh;  "at  least  I  read  so  in 
some  old  book." 

"We  were  talking  of  the  Prince  Regent, 
I  think,"  said  Charles  rather  stiffly. 

"Were  we?  Oh  yes,  I  remember.  Well, 
they  loved  each  other  so  much  that  the  old 
book  said  it  was  a  matter  of  common  rumour, 
whatever  that  means.  One  night  at  Crock- 
fords  Mr  Bevan — he  was  an  ancestor  of  yours 
— flew  into  a  frightful  temper  over  some 
nonsense — a  misdeal  at  cards  I  think  it  was 
— and  called  George  Lambert  a  name,  an 
awfully  funny  name ;  what  was  this  it  was  ? 
let  me  think " 

"  Don't  think,  don't  think,  go  on  with  the 
story,"  cried  Charles  in  an  agony. 

"  And  George  Lambert  slapped  Mr  Bevan's 
face,  and  serve  him  right,  too." 


"WHAT   TALES   ARE   THESE?"  71 

"What   is   that   you   say?"    cried   Charles, 
wattling  like  a  turkey-cock. 

"I    said   serve    him    right!"    cried    Fanny, 
clenching  her  little  fists. 

"  Look  here "  said  Charles,  then  suddenly 

he  became  dumb,  whilst  the  breeze  wandered 
with  a  rustling  sound  through  the  desolate 
garden,  bearing  with  it  from  some  distant 
street  the  voice  of  a  man  crying  "  Herrings," 
as  if  to  remind  them  that  Highgate  was  no 
longer  the  Highgate  of  the  Regency. 

"  Well  ? "  said  Fanny,  still  with  a  trace  of 
defiance  in  her  tone. 

"  Nothing,"  answered  Charles  meekly.  "  Go 
on  with  your  story." 

Fanny  nestled  closer  to  him  as  if  to  make 
up,  and  went  on : 

"The  Prince  was  in  the  room,  and  every 
one  said  he  turned  pale ;  some  people  said 
he  cried  out,  '  My  God,  what  an  occurrence ! ' 
and  some  people  said  he  cried  out,  '  Gentle- 
men, gentlemen!'  And  the  old  Marquis  of 
Bath  dropped  his  snuff-box,  though  what  that 
has  to  do  with  the  story  I  don't  know. 

"At  all  events,  the  Prince  left  immediately, 
for  he  had  an  appointment  to  meet  Fanny, 
and  have  supper  with  her.  He  must  have 


72  FANNY  LAMBERT 

said  something  nasty  to  her,  for  instead  of 
having  supper  with  him,  she  took  a  carriage 
and  drove  home  here.  She  seemed  greatly 
distressed ;  the  servants  said  she  spent  the 
night  walking  up  and  down  the  blue  corridor 
crying  out,  '  O  that  I  ever  loved  such  a 
man ! '  and  '  Who  would  have  thought  men 
were  so  cruel ! '  Then,  when  her  husband 
came  back  from  fighting  a  duel  with  Mr 
Bevan,  she  was  gone.  All  her  jewels  were 
gone  too ;  she  must  have  hidden  them  some- 
where, for  they  were  never  found  again. 

"  They  found  her  hanging  in  a  clothes 
closet  quite  dead ;  she  had  hung  herself  with 
her  garters — she  must  have  had  a  very  small 
neck,  I'm  sure  I  couldn't  hang  myself  with 
mine — and  now  she  haunts  the  corridor 
beckoning  to  people  to  follow  her." 

"Have  you  ever  seen  her?" 

"No,  but  I  am  sure  I  have  heard  her  at 
nights  sometimes,  when  the  wind  is  high. 
Father  O'Mahony  wanted  to  lay  her,  but  I 
told  father  not  to  let  him,  she's  said  to  be 
so  lucky." 

"  Lucky,  indeed,  to  lose  you  a  good  tenant ! " 

"It  was  the  luckiest  thing  she  ever  did, 
for  the  hotel  was  awfully  expensive." 


"WHAT   TALES   ARE   THESE? "73 

"  Why  did  you  not  take  apartments,  then  ?  " 

"Oh,  they  are  so  lonely  and  so  poky,  and 
landladies  rob  one  so." 

"Is  your  father  a  Roman  Catholic?" 

"  He  is." 

"What  are  you?" 

"  I  am  nothing,"  said  Fanny,  proclaiming 
her  simple  creed  with  all  the  simplicity  of 
childhood,  and  a  smile  that  surely  was  re- 
flected on  the  Recording  Angel's  face  as  he 
jotted  down  her  reply. 

"  Does  your  father  know  of  this  state  of 
your  mind  ? "  asked  Charles  in  a  horrified 
voice. 

"  Yes,  and  he  is  always  trying  to  convert 
me  to  'the  faith,'  as  he  calls  it.  We  have 
long  arguments,  and  I  always  beat  him. 
When  he  can  find  nothing  more  to  say,  he 
always  scratches  his  dear  old  head  and  says, 
'  Anyhow  you're  baptised,  and  that's  one 
comfort,'  then  we  talk  of  other  things,  but 
he  did  convert  me  once." 

"How  was  that ? " 

"  I  was  in  a  hurry  to  try  on  a  frock,"  said 
this  valuable  convert  to  the  Church;  "at  least 
the  dressmaker  was  waiting,  so  I  gave  in,  but 
only  for  once." 


74  FANNY  LAMBERT 

"What  do  you  believe  in,  then?"  asked 
Charles,  glancing  fearfully  at  the  female  atheist 
by  his  side,  who  had  taken  her  garden  hat  from 
her  head  and  was  swinging  it  by  the  ribbon. 

"  I  believe  in  being  good,  and  I  believe  in 
father,  and  I  believe  one  ought  always  to  make 
every  one  as  happy  as  possible  and  ba  kind  to 
animals.  I  believe  people  who  ill-treat  animals 
go  to  hell — at  least,  I  hope  they  do." 

"  Do  you  believe  in  heaven  ? "  asked  Mr 
Bevan  in  a  pained  voice. 

"  Of  course  I  do." 

"  Then  you  are  not  an  atheist,"  in  a  voice  of 
relief. 

"  Of  course  I'm  not.     Who  said  I  was  ?  " 

"You  did." 

"  I  didn't.  I'd  sooner  die  than  be  an  atheist. 
One  came  here  to  dinner  once ;  he  had  a  red 
beard,  and  smoked  shag  in  the  drawing-room. 
Ugh !  such  a  man !  " 

"  Do  you  believe  in  God?" 

"  I  used  to,  when  I  was  a  child.  I  was 
always  told  He  would  strike  me  dead  if  I  told 
a  lie,  and  then  I  found  that  He  didn't.  It  was 
like  the  man  who  lived  in  the  oven.  I  was 
always  told  that  the  Black  Man  who  lived  in 
the  oven  would  run  away  with  me  if  I  stole 


"WHAT   TALES   ARE   THESE? "75 

the  jam ;  and  one  day  I  stole  the  jam,  and 
opened  the  oven  door  and  looked  in.  I  was 
in  a  terrible  fright,  but  there  wasn't  any  man 
there." 

"It's  very  strange,"  said  Charles. 

"  That  there  wasn't  a  man  there  ?  " 

11 1  was  referring,"  said  Charles  stiffly,  "  to 
such  thoughts  in  the  mind  of  one  so  young  as 
you  are." 

"  Oh,  I'm  as  old  as  the  hills,"  cried  Fanny 
in  the  voice  of  a  blast  woman  of  the  world, 
making  a  grab  at  a  passing  moth  and  then 
flinging  her  hat  after  it,  "  as  old  as  the — mercy ! 
what's  that  ?  " 

"  Miss  Fanny !  "  cried  the  voice  of  Susannah, 
who  was  lowing  like  a  cow  through  garden  and 
shrubbery  in  search  of  her  missing  mistress, 
"Miss  Fah-ny,  Miss " 

"  That's  tea,"  said  Fanny,  rising,  and  leading 
the  way  to  the  house. 


76       FANNY  LAMBERT 
CHAPTER  X 

ASPARAGUS    AND    CATS 

CHARLES  BEVAN  followed  his  cousin  to  the 
house.  His  orderly  mind  could  never  have 
imagined  of  its  own  volition  a  manage  like 
that  of  the  Lamberts.  He  revolted  at  it,  yet 
felt  strangely  fascinated.  It  was  like  watching 
people  dancing  on  a  tight  rope  half  cut  in 
two,  sailors  feasting  and  merry-making  on  a 
sinking  wreck,  children  plucking  flowers  on 
the  crumbling  edge  of  a  cliff. 

Tea  was  laid  in  state  in  the  drawing-room, 
a  lovely  old  room  with  tapestried  walls,  and 
windows  that  opened  upon  the  garden ;  or  at 
least  that  part  of  it  which  had  been  robbed 
of  its  roses  and  converted  into  a  kitchen- 
garden  during  one  of  George  Lambert's 
economical  fits. 

"That  is  the  asparagus  bed,"  said  Fanny 
proudly. 

It  was  like  a  badly-ploughed  field,  and 
Charles'  eye  travelled  slowly  over  its  ridges 
and  hollows. 

"  Have  you  a  potato  bed  ? "  he  asked,  his 


ASPARAGUS   AND   CATS        77 

mind  subconsciously  estimating  the  size  of 
the  Lamberts'  Highgate  estate  on  the  basis 
that  their  potato  crop  was  in  proportion  to 
their  asparagus. 

"  Oh,  we  buy  our  potatoes  and  cabbages 
and  things,"  said  Fanny;  "they  are  cheap." 

"  But  asparagus  takes  such  a  time  to  grow 
— four  years,  I  think  it  is." 

"  Oh,  surely  not  so  long  as  that  ? "  said  the 
girl,  taking  her  seat  at  the  tea-table.  "  Why, 
oak  trees  would  grow  quicker  than  that ; 
besides,  James  said  we  would  have  splendid 
asparagus  next  spring,  and  he  was  a  professed 
gardener  before  his  misfortunes  overtook  him. 
Do  you  take  sugar  ?  " 

"  Yes,  please,"  said  Charles,  wearily  dropping 
into  a  low  chair  and  wondering  vaguely  at  the 
angelic  beauty  of  the  girl's  face. 

"And  what,  may  I  ask,  were  the  'mis- 
fortunes' that  overtook  James?" 

"  His  wife,  poor  thing,  took  to  drink,"  said 
she,  with  so  much  commiseration  in  her  tone 
that  she  might  have  been  a  disciple  of  the 
new  criminology,  "and  that  broke  his  heart 
and  took  all  his  energy  away." 

"  Do  you  believe  him  ?  " 

"  Why  not  ?    He  is  a  most  devoted  creature ; 


78  FANNY   LAMBERT 

and  he  is  going  to  give  up  the  business  he 
is  in  and  stay  on  when  father  pays  Mr  Isaacs. 
I  hope  we  will  never  part  with  James." 

Susannah,  in  honour  of  the  guest,  had  pro- 
duced the  best  tea  service,  a  priceless  set  of  old 
Sevres.  The  tray  was  painted  with  Cupidons 
blowing  trumpets  as  if  in  honour  of  the  victory 
of  Susannah  over  mischance,  in  that  she  had 
conveyed  them  upstairs  by  some  miracle 
unsmashed. 

There  was  half  a  cake  by  Buszard ;  the  tea, 
had  it  been  paid  for,  would  have  cost  five 
shillings  a  pound,  but  the  milk  was  sky 
blue. 

As  Fanny  was  cutting  up  the  cake  in  liberal 
slices  as  if  for  a  children's  party,  two  frightful- 
looking  cats  walked  into  the  room  with  all  the 
air  of  bandits.  One  was  jet  black  and  one  was 
brindled ;  both  looked  starved,  and  each  wore 
its  tail  with  a  pump-handle  curve  after  the 
fashion  of  a  lion's  when  marauding. 

Fanny  regarded  them  lovingly,  and  poured 
out  a  saucerful  of  the  blue  milk  which  she 
placed  on  the  floor. 

"  Aren't  they  angels  ?" 

"Well,  if  you  ask  me,"  said  Charles  Bevan, 
as  if  he  were  giving  his  opinion  on  some  object 


ASPARAGUS   AND   CATS        79 

of  vtrtu,   "  I'd  say  they  were   more  like — the 
other  things." 

"  I  know  they  are  not  pretty"  said  Fanny 
regretfully,  "but  they  are  faithful.  They 
always  come  to  tea  just  as  if  they  were 
invited." 

"  I  wonder  your  poodle — I  mean  the  dog, 
lets  them  in." 

"  Boy-Boy? — Oh,  he  only  barks  at  things  at 
night  when  they  can't  see  him  ;  he  would  run 
from  a  mouse,  he's  such  a  dear  old  coward. 
Aren't  they  thirsty  ? " 

"Where  did  you  get  them?  I  should  think 
they  would  be  hard  to  match." 

"  I  didn't  get  them  :  they  are  not  ours,  they 
just  come  in." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  let  stray  cats  in 
like  that?" 

"/  don't  let  them  in,  they  come  in  through 
a  hole  in  the  scullery  window." 

"  Goodness  gracious  ! " 

"  Sometimes  the  kitchen  is  full  of  cats  ;  they 
seem  to  know." 

"That  fools  live  here,"  thought  Charles. 

"And  Susannah  spends  all  her  time  turning 
them  out — all,  of  course,  except  the  black  ones." 

"Why  not  the  black  ones?" 


80  FANNY   LAMBERT 

"  Because  they  are  lucky  ;  did  you  not  know 
that?  It's  frightfully  unlucky  to  turn  a  black 
cat  out." 

"Why  not  fill  up  the  hole  and  stop  them 
from  getting  in  ?  " 

"  Susannah  has  stuffed  it  up  with  old 
stockings  and  things  till  she's  weary ;  they 
butt  it  in  with  their  heads." 

"  Why  not  have  a  new  pane  put  in  ?  " 

"  Father  has  talked  of  that,  but  I  have 
always  changed  the  conversation,  and  then  he 
forgets." 

"  You  like  cats  ?  " 

"  I  love  them." 

Charles  looked  gloomily  at  the  grimalkins. 

"  Seems  to  me  you  must  have  your  food 
stolen." 

"  We  used  to,  but  Susannah  locks  every- 
thing up  now  before  she  goes  to  bed." 

She  inverted  the  milk  jug  to  show  the  cats 
that  there  was  no  milk  left,  and  the  intelligent 
creatures  comprehending  left  the  room,  the 
black  leading  the  way. 

"  Faithful  creatures !  "  sneered  Charles. 

"Aren't  they!  Oh,  but,  Cousin  Charles — 
I  mean  Mr " 

"  No ;  call  me  Cousin  Charles." 


ASPARAGUS  AND   CATS        81 

" — I've  given  the  cats  all  the  milk!" 

"  No  matter,"  said  Charles  magnanimously. 
"  The  poor  beggars  wanted  it  more  than  I. 
I  never  drink  more  than  one  cup  of  tea ;  it 
makes  me  nervous." 

"  How  good  you  are ! "  she  murmured. 
"  You  remind  me  of  father." 

Charles  moved  uneasily  in  his  chair. 

From  somewhere  in  the  distance  came  the 
sound  of  Susannah  singing  and  cleaning  a 
window,  a  song  like  a  fetish  song  interrupted 
by  the  sound  of  the  window  being  closed  to 
see  if  it  was  clean  enough,  and  flung  up 
again  with  a  jerk,  that  spoke  of  dissatisfac- 
tion. These  sounds  of  a  sudden  ceased. 

They  were  succeeded  by  the  murmur 
of  voices,  a  footstep,  then  a  tap  at  the 
door,  followed  by  the  voice  of  Susannah 
requesting  her  mistress  to  step  outside  for  a 
moment. 

"  I  know  what  that  always  means," 
murmured  the  girl  in  a  resigned  voice, 
as  she  rose  from  the  table  and  left  the 
room. 

Charles  Be  van  rose  from  his  chair  and  went 
to  the  window. 

"These  people   want  protecting,"  he    said 


82  FANNY  LAMBERT 

to  himself  frowning  at  the  asparagus  bed. 
"  Irresponsibility  when  it  passes  a  certain 
point  becomes  absolute  lunacy.  Fanny  and 
her  father  ought  to  be  in  a  lunatic  asylum 
with  their  ghosts,  and  cats,  and  rubbish,  only 
I  don't  believe  any  lunatic  asylum  would  take 
them  in  ;  they  would  infect  the  other  patients 
and  make  them  worse.  Good  Heavens !  it 
makes  me  shudder.  They  must  be  on  the 
verge  of  the  workhouse,  making  asparagus 
beds,  and  drinking  champagne,  and  flying 
off  to  Paris,  and  feeding  every  filthy  stray 
cat  with  food  they  must  want  for  themselves. 
Poor  devils — I  mean  damned  fools.  Anyhow, 
I  must  be  going."  The  recollection  of  a 
certain  lady  named  Pamela  Pursehouse  arose 
coldly  in  his  mind  now  that  Miss  Lambert  was 
absent  from  the  room,  and  the  little  "  still 
voice,"  whatever  a  still  voice  may  be,  said 
something  about  duty. 

He  determined  to  flee  from  temptation 
directly  his  hostess  returned,  but  he  reckoned 
without  Fate. 

The  door  opened  and  Fanny  entered  with  a 
face  full  of  tragedy. 

She  closed  the  door. 

"  What   do   you    think   Susannah   has   told 


83 

me  ? "  She  spoke  in  a  low  voice  as  if  death 
were  in  the  house. 

"What?" 

"James  has  come  in  and  he  has — had  too 
much ! " 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  he  is 
intoxicated  ? " 

"  I  do,"  said  Fanny  with  her  voice  filled 
with  tears. 

"How  disgraceful 7  I  will  go  down  and 
turn  him  out."  Then  he  remembered  that 
he  could  not  very  well  turn  him  out  con- 
sidering that  he  was  in  possession. 

"  For  goodness  sake  don't  even  hint  that 
to  him,  or  he  may  go,"  cried  Fanny  in 
alarm,  "  for,  when  he  gets  like  this,  he 
always  talks  of  leaving  at  once,  because  his 
calling  is  a  disgrace  to  him,  and  if  he  went, 
Susannah  would  follow  him." 

"But,  my  dear  girl,"  cried  Charles,  "how 
dare  that  wretched  Susannah — ahem — why, 
he's  a  married  man,  you  told  me  so ;  surely 
she  knows  that" 

"Yes,  she  knows  that,  but  she  says  she 
can't  help  herself." 

"/  never  met  such  people  before!"  said 
Charles,  addressing  a  jade  dragon  on  the 


84  FANNY   LAMBERT 

mantelpiece — "  I  mean,"  he  said,  putting  his 
hands  in  his  trousers'  pockets  and  addressing 
his  boots,  "such  a  person  as  Susannah." 

"Her  mother  ran  away  with  her  father," 
murmured  Fanny  in  extenuation,  "so  I 
suppose  it  is  in  the  blood.  But  I  wish  we 
could  do  something  with  James.  If  he  would 
even  go  to  bed,  but  he  sits  by  the  kitchen 
fire  crying,  and  that  sets  Susannah  off. 
She  will  be  ill  for  days  after  this.  He  said 
it  was  a  cigar  some  one  gave  him  that  re- 
minded him  of  his  better  days " 

"  Bother  his  better  days ! " 

" and  he  went  to  try  and  drown  the 

recollection  of  them.  It  is  so  stupid  of  him, 
he  knows  how  drink  flies  to  his  head ;  you 
would  never  imagine  if  you  could  see  him 
now  that  he  has  only  had  two  glasses  of 
beer." 

"  I  will  go  down  to  the  kitchen  and  speak 
to  him,"  said  Charles. 

"But,  Cousin  Charles,"  said  Fanny,  pluck- 
ing at  his  coat,  "  be  sure  and  speak  gently." 

*'  I  will,"  said  Mr  Bevan. 

"Then  I'll  go  with  you,"  said  she. 

James,  a  long  ill-weedy  looking  man,  was 
seated  before  the  kitchen  fire  on  a  chair 


ASPARAGUS   AND   CATS         85 

without  a  back ;  Susannah,  on  hearing  their 
footsteps,  darted  into  the  scullery. 

"  Now,  James,  now,  James,"  said  Charles 
Bevan,  speaking  in  a  paternal  voice,  "what 
is  the  meaning  of  all  this  ?  How  did  you  get 
yourself  into  this  condition  ? " 

James  turned  his  head  and  regarded 
Charles.  He  made  a  vain  endeavour  to 
speak  and  rise  from  his  chair  at  one  and 
the  same  time,  then  he  collapsed  and  his 
tears  returned  anew. 

At  the  sound,  Susannah  in  the  scullery 
threw  her  apron  over  her  head  and  joined 
in,  whilst  Fanny  looked  out  of  the  window 
and  sniffled. 

"/  never  saw  such  a  lot  of  people!"  cried 
Charles  in  desperation.  "  James,  James,  be  a 
man." 

"How  can  he,"  said  Fanny,  controlling  her 
voice,  "  when  he  is  in  this  terrible  state  ? 
Cousin  Charles,  don't  you  think  you  could 
induce  him  to  go  to  bed?" 

"  I  think  I  could,"  said  Charles  grimly, 
"if  you  show  me  the  way  to  his  room." 


PART  II 
CHAPTER   I 

A    REVELATION 

"WHEN  will  your  father  come  back?"  asked 
Charles  as  he  returned  to  the  kitchen,  having 
deposited  the  man  of  law  on  his  bed  and 
shaken  his  fist  in  his  face  as  a  token  of 
what  he  would  get  if  he  rose  from  it, 

"  Not  till  this  evening,  late,"  said  Fanny. 

"  Then  I  must  wait  till  he  returns,  or  till 
this  person  recovers  himself.  I  cannot  possibly 
leave  you  alone  in  the  house  with  a  tipsy 
man." 

"Oh  yes,  do  stay  till  father  returns.  I  want 
you  to  meet  him  so  much,"  said  Fanny,  all 
her  grief  vanishing  in  smiles. 

"  Susannah,  we'll  have  supper  at  eight." 

"Yes,  miss." 

"  I  am  almost  glad,"  said  Fanny,  as  she 
tripped  up  the  kitchen  stairs  before  her 

M 


A  REVELATION  87 

cousin,  "  I  am  almost  glad  James  took  it  into 
his  head  to  get  tipsy,  you'd  have  gone  away 
if  he  hadn't,  without  seeing  father ;  it  seems 
almost  like  Providence.  Mercy!  it's  six 
o'clock." 

She  glanced  at  the  great  old  hall  clock 
ticking  away  the  moments,  even  as  it  had 
done  when  George  the  Third  was  king,  and 
Charles  took  his  watch  out  to  verify  the 
time,  but  he  did  not  catch  the  old  clock 
tripping. 

"  Now  we  must  think  about  supper,"  said 
Fanny,  in  a  busy  voice.  "  You  must  be 
dying  of  hunger.  What  do  you  like  best  ? " 

"  But  you  have  not  dined,   Fanny." 

"  Oh,  we  always  call  dinner  '  luncheon,'  and 
have  it  in  the  middle  of  the  day ;  it  saves 
trouble,  and  it  is  less  worry."  Then,  after 
a  moment's  pause  :  "  I  wish  we  had  a  lobster, 
but  I  don't  think  there  is  one.  I  know  there 
is  a  beefsteak." 

She  went  to  the  kitchen  stairs. 

"  Susannah ! " 

"Yes,  miss,"  answered  a  dolorous  voice 
from  below. 

"Have  you  a  lobster  in  the  house?" 

"  No,  miss." 


88  FANNY  LAMBERT 

"  You  have  a  beefsteak  ?  " 

A  sound  came  as  of  search  amongst  the 
plates  on  the  dresser. 

"  The  beefsteak  is  gone,  Miss  Fanny." 

"  Now,  where  can  that  beefsteak  have  gone 
to  ? "  murmured  the  girl,  whilst  Charles  called 
to  mind  the  criminal  countenances  of  the  two 
faithful  cats,  and  the  business-like  manner  in 
which  they  had  left  the  room. 

"  Search  again,   Susannah." 

A  frightful  crash  of  crockery  came  as  a 
reply. 

"  Susannah ! " 

"Yes,  miss." 

"  Don't  look  any  more,  I  will  go  out  and 
buy  something." 

"Don't  mind  me,"  said  Charles.  "Any- 
thing will  do  for  me ;  I  am  used — I  mean " 

"  I  am  not  going  to  have  father  come  back 
and  find  you  starved  to  death ;  he'd  kill  me. 
I'm  going  out  marketing;  will  you  come?" 

"With  pleasure." 

"Then  wait  till  I  fetch  my  hat  and  a 
basket." 

"May  I  light  a  cigar?" 

"Yes,  smoke  everywhere,  every  one  does," 
and  she  rushed  upstairs  for  her  hat.  A 


A  REVELATION  89 

moment  later  she  returned,  hat  on  head,  and 
bearing  in  her  hand  a  little  basket  adorned 
with  blue  ribbons:  a  pound  of  tea  would 
have  freighted  it. 

"  How  on  earth  is  she  going  to  get  the 
dinner  into  that?"  thought  her  companion,  as 
he  unbarred  the  hall  door  and  followed  her 
down  the  steps. 

Then  they  found  themselves  walking  down 
the  weed-grown  avenue,  the  birds  twittering 
overhead  in  the  light  of  the  warm  June 
evening. 

That  he  should  be  going  "  a-marketing "  in 
Highgate  accompanied  by  a  pretty  girl  with 
a  basket  did  not,  strangely  enough,  impress 
Charles  Bevan  as  being  an  out-of-the-way 
occurrence. 

He  felt  as  if  he  had  known  the  Lamberts 
for  years — a  good  many  years.  He  no  longer 
contemplated  the  joyous  tragedy  of  their  life 
wholly  as  a  spectator ;  he  had  become  suddenly 
and  without  volition  one  of  the  actors,  a  sub- 
ordinate actor  —  a  thinking  part,  one  might 
call  it. 

The  fearful  fascination  exercised  by  these 
people  seemed,  strange  to  say,  never  so  potent 
as  when  exercised  upon  hard-headed  people, 


90  FANNY   LAMBERT 

as  Major  Sawyer  and  many  another  could 
have  told. 

"I  love  marketing,"  said  Fanny,  as  they 
trudged  along,  "at  least  buying  things." 

"  Have  you  any  money  ? " 

"  Lots,"  said  Miss  Lambert,  producing  a 
starved-looking  purse. 

She  opened  it  and  peeped  in  at  the  three 
and  sixpence  it  contained,  and  then  shut  it 
with  a  snap  as  if  fearful  of  their  escaping. 

"  What  do  you  like  next  best  to  marketing  ?  " 
asked  Charles  in  the  sedate  voice  of  a  heavy 
father  speaking  to  his  favourite  child. 

"  Opening  parcels." 

"I   don't  quite " 

"Oh,  you  know — strange  parcels  when  they 
come,  or  when  father  brings  them,  one  never 
knows  what  may  be  in  them — chocolate  creams 
or  what.  I  wonder  what  father  will  bring 
me  back  this  time  ?  " 

"  Where  has  he  gone  to  ?  " 

"  He  has  gone  to  get  some  money." 

"He  will  be  back  this  evening?" 

"  Yes,  unless  he  finds  it  difficult  getting  the 
money.  If  he  does,  he  won't  be  home  till 
morning."  She  spoke  as  an  Indian  squaw 
might  speak,  whose  father  or  husband  has 


A   REVELATION  91 

gone     a-hunting,     whilst     Charles     marvelled 
vaguely. 

"  But  suppose — he  doesn't  get  any  money?" 

"  Oh,  he  will  get  it  all  right,  people  are  so 
good  to  him.  Poor,  dear  Mr  Hancock " 

She  stopped  suddenly. 

"Yes,  yes." 

"  He  said  we  weren't  to  tell." 

She  spoke  in  a  secretive  voice  which  greatly 
inflamed  her  companion's  curiosity. 

"  You  might  tell  me,  but  don't  if  you  don't 
want  to." 

"Yes,"  said  Fanny.  "I  don't  think  it 
matters  now  that  you  are  friends  with  us, 
and  we're  all  the  same  family.  Father's 
dividends  had  not  come  in,  and  he  lent  us  the 
money  to  pay  the  bills." 

"  What  bills?" 

"  The  butcher's  bill,  and  Stokes  the  baker's 
bill,  and  the  milk  bill,  and  some  others." 

"Hancock  lent  you  the  money  to  pay  your 
bills?"  cried  Charles,  feeling  like  a  person  in 
a  dream. 

"  Yes,  old  Mr  Hancock,  your  Mr  Hancock." 

"  But  he  never  told  me  he  was  a  friend  of 
your  father's ;  besides,  he  is  mv  solicitor." 

"He  never  saw  us  before  this  week." 


92  FANNY  LAMBERT 

"Tell  me  all  about  it,  and  how  you  came 
to  know  him  so  intimately,  and  how  he  paid 
your  bills,"  commanded  Mr  Bevan. 

There  was,  just  here  on  the  road,  a  seat 
dropped  incontinently  by  the  County  Council ; 
they  sat  upon  it  whilst  she  told  her  tale. 

"It  was  the  other  day.  Father  had  not 
slept  all  night  thinking  of  the  action.  He 
came  into  my  bedroom  at  two  in  the  morning 
to  tell  me  that  if  he  lost  it  before  the  House 
of  Lords,  he  would  take  it  before  the  Queen 
in  Council.  He  had  been  sitting  up  reading 
1  Every  Man  his  Own  Lawyer.'  Well,  next 
morning  a  lot  of  people  came  asking  for  their 
money,  the  butcher  and  all  those,  and  we 
hadn't  any. 

"  Father  said  it  was  all  your  fault,  and  he 
wished  he  had  never  seen  the  fish  stream. 
I  was  so  frightened  by  the  way  he  was  bother- 
ing himself  about  everything — for,  as  a  rule, 
you  know  he  is  the  most  easy-tempered  man 
in  the  world  as  long  as  he  has  got  his  pipe. 
Well,  a  friend  advised  me  to  go  privately  to 
your  lawyer  and  try  to  stop  the  action.  So 
I  went  to  Mr  Hancock. 

"At  first  he  seemed  very  stiff,  and  glared 
at  me  through  his  spectacles ;  but,  after  a  while, 


A   REVELATION  93 

as  I  told  him  all  about  ourselves,  he  stopped 
shuffling  his  feet,  and  listened  with  his  hand 
to  his  ear  as  if  he  were  deaf,  and  he  took  a 
smelling  bottle  out  of  a  drawer  of  his  desk 
and  snuffed  at  it,  and  said,  '  Dear  me,  how 
very  extraordinary ! '  Then  he  called  me  his 
1  Poor  child ! '  and  asked  me  had  I  had  any 
luncheon.  I  said  'Yes,'  though  I  hadn't — I 
wasn't  hungry.  Well,  we  talked  and  talked, 
and  at  last  he  said  he  would  come  back  with 
me  home,  for  that  our  affairs  were  in  a  dreadful 
condition  and  we  didn't  seem  to  know  it.  He 
said  he  would  come  as  a  friend  and  try  to 
forget  that  he  was  a  lawyer. 

"  Well,  he  came  here  with  me.  Father  was 
upstairs  in  his  bedroom,  and  I  poked  my  head 
in  and  told  him  your  lawyer  wanted  to  see 
him  in  the  drawing-room. 

"  I  didn't  tell  him  it  was  I  who  had  fetched 
him,  for  I  knew  he  would  simply  go  mad  if 
he  thought  I  had  been  meddling  with  the 
action  ;  besides,  Mr  Hancock  said  I  had  better 
not,  as  he  simply  called  as  a  friend. 

"Down  came  father  and  went  into  the 
drawing-room.  I  was  in  an  awful  fright,  too 
frightened  even  to  listen  at  the  door.  I  made 
Susannah  listen  after  a  while,  and  she  said 


94  FANNY   LAMBERT 

they  were  talking  about  roses  —  I  felt  so 
relieved. 

"  I  sent  Susannah  in  with  wine,  and  Mr 
Hancock  stayed  to  supper.  After  supper  they 
had  cigars  and  punch,  and  I  played  to  them 
on  the  piano,  and  father  sang  Irish  songs, 
and  Mr  Hancock  told  us  awfully  funny  stories 
all  about  the  law,  and  said  he  was  a  bachelor 
and  envied  father  because  he  had  a  daughter 
like  me. 

"  Then  he  talked  about  our  affairs,  and  said 
he  would  require  more  punch  before  he  could 
understand  them  ;  so  he  had  more  punch,  and 
father  showed  him  the  housekeeping  books, 
and  he  looked  over  them  reading  them  upside 
down  and  every  way.  Then  he  wrote  out  a 
cheque  to  pay  the  books,  with  one  eye  shut, 
whilst  father  wrote  out  bills,  you  know,  to 
pay  the  cheque,  and  then  he  kissed  me  and 
said  good-bye  to  father  and  went  away  crying." 

"  But,"  cried  Charles,  utterly  astounded  at 
this  artless  revelation  of  another  man's  folly, 
"  old  Hancock  never  made  a  joke  in  his  life 
— at  least  to  me — and  he's  an  awful  old  skin- 
flint and  never  lent  any  man  a  penny,  so  they 
say." 

"  He  made  lots  of  jokes  that  night,  anyhow," 


A   REVELATION  95 

said  Fanny,  "and  lent  father  over  twenty 
pounds,  too  ;  and  only  yesterday  a  great  bunch 
of  hothouse  flowers  came  from  Covent  Garden 
with  his  card  for  me." 

"  Old  fool !  "  said  Charles. 

"  He  is  not  an  old  fool,  he's  a  dear  old  man, 
and  I  love  him.  Come  on,  or  the  shops  will  be 
closed." 

"  You  seem  to  love  everything,"  said  Mr 
Be  van  in  a  rather  stiff  tone,  as  they  meandered 
along  near  now  to  the  street  where  shops  were. 

"  I  do — at  least  everything  I  don't  hate." 

"  Whom  do  you  hate  ?  " 

"  No  one  just  now.  I  never  hate  people  for 
long,  it  is  too  much  trouble.  I  used  to  hate  you 
before  I  knew  you.  I  thought  you  were  a  man 
with  a  black  beard  ;  you  see  I  hadn't  seen  you." 

"  But,  why  on  earth  did  you  think  I  had  a 
black  beard  ?  " 

"/don't  know.  I  suppose  it  was  because  I 
hate  black  beards." 

"  So  you  don't  hate  me  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed" 

"  And  as  every  one  you  don't  hate,  you 

I  say,  what  a  splendid  evening  this  is !  it  is  just 
like  Italy.  I  mean,  it  reminds  me  of  Italy." 

"And   here    are   the    shops   at    last,"   said 


96  FANNY   LAMBERT 

Fanny,  as  if  the  shops  had  been  travelling  to 
them  and  had  only  just  arrived. 

She  stopped  at  a  stationer's  window. 

"  I  want  to  get  some  envelopes.  Come  in, 
won't  you?" 

She  bought  a  packet  of  envelopes  for  four- 
pence.  Charles  turned  away  to  look  at  some 
of  the  gaudily  -  bound  Kebles,  Byrons,  and 
Scotts  so  dear  to  the  middle-class  heart,  and 
before  he  could  turn  again  she  had  bought  a 
little  prayer-book  with  a  cross  on  it  for  a 
shilling.  The  shopman  was  besetting  her 
with  a  new  invention  in  birthday  cards  when 
Charles  broke  the  spell  by  touching  her  elbow 
with  the  head  of  his  walking  stick. 

"  Don't  you  think,"  said  he  when  they  were 
safely  in  the  street,  "  it  is  a  mistake  buying 
prayer  -  books,  these  shop-keepers  are  such 
awful  swindlers?" 

"I  bought  it  for  Susannah,"  explained 
Fanny.  "It's  a  little  present  for  her  after 
the  way  James  has  gone  on.  Look  at  this 
dear  monkey." 

A  barrel  organ  of  the  old  type  was  playing 
by  the  pavement,  making  a  sound  as  if  an 
old  man  gone  idiotic  were  humming  a  tune 
to  himself.  A  villainous-looking  monkey  on 


A   REVELATION  97 

the  organ -top,  held  out  his  hand  when  it 
saw  Fanny  approaching.  It  knew  the  world 
evidently,  or  at  least  physiognomy,  which  is 
almost  the  same  thing. 

"  He  takes  it  just  like  a  man,"  she  cried, 
as  the  creature  grabbed  one  of  her  pennies 
and  then  nearly  broke  its  chain  trying  to  get 
at  her  to  tear  the  rose  from  her  hat.  "  Look, 
it  knows  the  people  who  are  fond  of  it ;  it 
is  just  like  a  child." 

Charles  tore  her  from  the  monkey,  only  for 
a  milliner's  shop  to  suck  her  in. 

"  I  must  run  in  here  for  a  moment,  it's  only 
about  a  corset  I  ordered ;  I  won't  be  three 
minutes." 

He  waited  ten,  thinking  how  strange  it  was 
that  this  girl  saw  something  attractive  in 
nearly  everything — strange  cats,  monkeys, 
and  even  old  Hancock. 

At  the  end  of  twenty  minutes'  walking  up 
and  down,  he  approached  the  milliner's  window 
and  peeped  into  the  shop. 

Fanny  was  conversing  with  a  tall  woman, 
whose  frizzled  black  hair  lent  her  somehow 
the  appearance  of  a  Frenchwoman. 

The  Highgate  Frenchwoman  was  dangling 
something  gaudy  and  flimsy  before  Fanny's 


98  FANNY  LAMBERT 

eyes,  and  the  girl  had  her  purse  in  her 
hand. 

Charles  gave  a  sigh,  and  resumed  his  beat 
like  a  policeman. 

At  last  she  came  out,  carrying  a  tissue-paper 
parcel. 

"  Well,  have  you  got  your  —  what  you 
called  for  ?  " 

"  No,  it's  not  ready  yet ;  but  I've  got  the 
most  beautiful — Oh  my  goodness  me! — how 
stupid  I  am !" 

"  What  ?  " 

"  I  have  only  three  halfpence  left,  and 
I  have  forgotten  the  eggs  and  things  for 
supper." 

"  Give  me  your  purse,  and  let  me  look  into 
it,"  he  said,  taking  the  little  purse  and  turning 
away  a  moment.  Then  he  handed  it  back 
to  her ;  she  opened  it  and  peeped  in,  and 
there  lay  a  sovereign. 

"It's  just  what  father  does,"  she  said,  look- 
ing up  in  the  lamp-light  with  a  smile  that 
somehow  made  Mr  Bevan's  eyes  feel  misty. 
What  makes  you  so  like  him  in  everything 
you  do  ?  "  And  somehow  these  words  seemed 
to  the  correct  Mr  Be  van  the  sweetest  he 
had  ever  heard. 


A   REVELATION  99 

Then  they  marketed  after  the  fashion  of 
youth  when  it  finds  itself  the  possessor  of  a 
whole  sovereign.  Fanny  laying  out  the  money 
as  the  fancy  took  her,  and  with  the  lavishness 
so  conspicuously  absent  in  the  dealings  of  your 
mere  millionaire. 

They  then  returned  to  "  The  Laurels," 
Charles  Bevan  carrying  the  parcels. 

The  dining-room  of  "  The  Laurels "  was  a 
huge  apartment  furnished  in  .the  age  of  heavy 
dinners,  when  a  knowledge  of  comparative 
anatomy  and  the  wrist  of  a  butcher  were 
necessary  ingredients  in  the  composition  of 
a  successful  host. 

Here  Susannah,  to  drown  her  sorrows  in 
labour  and  give  honour  to  the  guest,  had 
laid  the  supper  things  on  a  lavish  scale. 
The  Venetian  vase,  before-mentioned,  stood 
filled  with  roses  in  the  centre  of  the  table, 
and  places  were  laid  for  six — all  sorts  of 
places.  Some  of  the  unexpected  guests  were 
presumably  to  sup  entirely  off  fish,  to  judge 
by  the  knives  and  forks  set  out  for  them, 
and  some  were  evidently  to  be  denied  the 
luxury  of  soup.  That  there  was  neither  soup 
nor  fish  mattered  little  to  Susannah. 

The  cellar,  to  judge  by  the  sideboard,  had 


100  FANNY  LAMBERT 

been  seized  with  a  spirit  of  emulation 
begotten  of  the  display  made  by  the  plate 
pantry,  and  had  sent  three  representatives 
from  each  bin.  The  sideboard  also  con- 
tained the  jam  -  pot,  the  bread  tray,  and 
butter  on  a  plate :  commestables  that  had 
the  abject  air  of  poor  relations  admitted  on 
sufferance,  and  come  to  look  on. 

Here  entered  Fanny,  followed  by  Mr 
Bevan,  laden  with  parcels. 

The  girl's  hat  was  tilted  slightly  sideways, 
her  raven  hair  was  in  revolt,  and  her  cheeks 
flushed  with  happiness  and  the  excitement 
of  marketing. 

Susannah  followed  them.  She  wore  a 
wonderful  white  apron  adorned  with  frills 
and  blue  ribbons,  a  birthday  present  from 
her  mistress,  only  brought  out  on  state 
occasions. 

"  Three  candles  only ! "  said  the  mistress 
of  the  house,  glancing  at  the  table  and  the 
three  candles  burning  on  it.  "  That's  not 
enough ;  fetch  a  couple  more,  and,  Susannah, 
bring  the  sardine  opener." 

"  Why  don't  you  light  the  gas  ? "  asked  her 
cousin,  putting  his  parcels  down  and  glancing 
at  the  great  chandelier  swinging  overhead. 


A  REVELATION  101 

"  I  would,  only  father  has  had  a  fight 
with  the  gas  company  and  they've  cut  it 
off.  Now  let's  open  the  parcels ;  put  the 
candles  nearer." 

Mr  Bevan's  parcels  contained  a  box  of 
sardines,  a  paysandu  ox  tongue,  and  a  basket 
of  peaches  ;  Fanny's,  the  before -mentioned 
prayer  -  book,  envelopes,  and  in  the  tissue- 
paper  parcel  a  light  shawl  or  fichu  of  fleecy 
silk  dyed  blue. 

She  cast  her  hat  off,  and  throwing  the 
fichu  round  her  neck,  hopped  upon  a  chair, 
candle  in  hand,  and  glanced  at  herself  in  a 
great  mirror  on  the  opposite  wall. 

"It  makes  me  look  beautiful ! "  she  cried. 
"And  I  have  half  a  mind  to  keep  it  for  myself." 

"  Why — for  whom  did  you  buy  it,  then  ?  " 

"  For  James'  wife,  Mrs  Regan." 

"Oh!" 

"  She  is  ill,  you  know,  and  I  am  going  to 
see  her  again  to-morrow.  I  hate  going  to  see 
sick  people,  but  father  says  whenever  we  see 
a  lame  dog  we  should  put  our  shoulders  to 
the  wheel  and  help  him  over  the  stile,  and 
she's  a  lame  dog,  if  ever  there  was  one. 
That's  right,  Susannah,  put  the  candles  here, 
and  give  me  the  can  opener ;  I  love  opening 


102  FANNY  LAMBERT 

tins,  and  there  is  a  little  prayer-book  I  got 
for  you  when  I  was  out." 

"  Thank  you,  miss,"  said  Susannah  in  a 
muffled  voice,  putting  the  little  prayer-book 
under  her  apron  with  one  hand,  and  snuffing 
a  candle  with  the  finger  and  thumb  of  the 
other.  "  Can  I  get  you  anything  more,  miss  ?  " 

"Nothing.      Is  James  all  right?" 

"  He's  asleep  now,  miss,"  answered  the 
maid,  closing  her  mouth  for  once  in  her  life 
by  some  miracle  of  Love,  and  catching  in  her 
breath  through  her  nose. 

"That  will  do,  Susannah,"  hastily  said  her 
mistress,  who  knew  this  symptom  of  old,  and 
what  it  foreboded ;  "  I'll  ring  if  I  want  you. 
Bring  up  the  punch  things  at  ten,  just  as 
you  always  bring  them." 

Susannah  left  the  room  making  stifled  sounds, 
and  Fanny,  with  Mrs  Regan's  fichu  about  her 
neck,  attacked  the  sardine  tin  with  the  opener. 

"  Let  me,"  said  Charles. 

"  No,  no ;  you  open  the  champagne,  and 
put  the  peaches  on  a  plate,  and  I'll  open  the 
tins.  Bring  over  the  bread  and  butter  and 
jam.  I  wish  we  had  some  ice  for  the  cham- 
pagne, but  the  fishmonger — forgot  to  send  it. 
Bother  this  knife  1" 


A   REVELATION  103 

She  laboured  away,  with  her  cheeks  flushed ; 
a  lock  of  black  hair  hanging  loose  lent  her  a 
distracted  air,  and  made  her  so  lovely  in  the 
eyes  of  Charles  that  he  put  the  bread  platter 
down  on  top  of  the  butter  plate,  so  that  the 
butter  pat  clung  to  the  bottom  of  the  bread 
platter,  and  they  had  to  scrape  it  off,  one 
holding  the  platter,  one  scraping  with  the 
knife,  and  both  hands  touching. 

"  We  have  had  that  bread  plate  ever  since 
I  can  remember,"  she  said,  as  they  seated 
themselves  to  the  feast,  "  and  I  wouldn't  have 
anything  happen  to  it  for  earths,  not  that 
the  butter  will  do  it  any  harm.  Isn't  the 
text  on  it  nice  ?  " 

Charles  examined  the  bread  platter  gravely. 

"  '  Want  not,'  "  he  read.  He  looked  in  vain 
for  the  "  Waste  not,"  but  that  part  of  the 
maxim  was  hidden  by  the  carved  representa- 
tion of  a  full  ear  of  corn. 

"  It's  a  very  nice  —  motto.  Have  some 
champagne  ?  " 

"  No  thanks,  I  only  drink  water,  wine  flies 
to  my  head;  I  am  like  James.  I  am  going 
to  have  a  peach — have  one." 

"  Thank  you,  I  am  eating  sardines.  You 
remind  me  of  the  old  gentleman — he  was 


104  FANNY  LAMBERT 

short-sighted — who     offered    me   a    pinch    of 
snuff  once  when  I  was  eating  a  sole." 

Fanny,  with  her  teeth  set  in  the  peach, 
gave  a  little  shriek  of  laughter,  but  Mr  Bevan 
was  perfectly  grave.  Still,  for  perhaps  the 
first  time  in  his  life,  he  felt  his  possibilities  as 
a  humorist,  and  determined  to  exploit  them. 

"  Talking  about  ghosts "  -  ghosts  and 
mothers-in-law,  to  the  medium  intellect,  are 
always  fair  game, — "talking  about  ghosts," 
said  he,  "you  said,  I  think,  Cousin  Fanny— 

"  Call  me  Fanny,"  said  that  lady,  who, 
having  eaten  her  peach,  was  now  helping  her- 
self to  sardines.  "  I  hate  that  word  'cousin/ 
it  sounds  so  stiff.  What  about  ghosts  ?  " 

"  About  ghosts,"  he  answered  slowly,  his 
new-found  sense  of  humour  suddenly  becoming 
lost.  "  Oh  yes,  you  said,  Fanny,  that  a  ghost 
was  haunting  this  house." 

"  Yes,  Fanny  Lambert.  I  told  you  she  hid 
her  jewels  before  she  hung  herself.  When 
people  see  her  she  is  always  beckoning  them 
to  follow  her.  We  found  James  insensible 
one  night  on  the  landing  upstairs ;  he  told 
us  next  morning  he  had  seen  her,  and  she 
had  beckoned  him  to  follow  her,  and  after 
that  he  remembered  nothing  more." 


A  REVELATION  105 

"A  sure  sign  there  were  spirits  in  the 
house." 

"Wasn't  it?  But  why,  do  you  think, 
does  she  beckon  people  ? " 

"  Perhaps  she  beckons  people  to  show  them 
where  the  jewels  are  hidden." 

"Oh!"  cried  Fanny;  "why  did  we  never 
think  of  that  before?  Of  course  that  is  the 
reason — and  they  are  worth  two  hundred 
thousand  pounds.  We  must  have  the  panels 
in  the  corridor  taken  down.  I'll  make  father 
do  it  to-morrow.  Two  hundred  thousand 
pounds :  what  is  that  a  year  ?  " 

"Ten  thousand." 

"Fancy  father  with  ten  thousand  a  year!" 
Mr  Bevan  shuddered.  "  We  can  have  a 
steam  yacht,  and  everything  we  want.  I 
feel  as  if  I  were  going  mad,"  said  Miss 
Lambert,  with  the  air  of  a  person  who 
had  often  been  mad  before  and  knew  the 
symptoms. 

The  door  opened  and  Susannah  appeared 
with  the  punch  things.  "Susannah,  guess 
what's  happened — never  mind,  you'll  know 
soon.  Have  you  got  the  lemon  and  the 
sugar?  That  is  right." 

And     Miss     Lambert,      forgetting     for     a 


106  FANNY   LAMBERT 

moment  fortune,  turned  her  attention  to  the 
manufacturing  of  punch. 

Susannah  withdrew,  casting  her  eyes  over 
Fanny  and  Charles  as  she  went,  and  seeming 
to  draw  her  under-lip  after  her. 

When  the  door  was  shut,  Miss  Lambert 
looked  into  the  punch  bowl  to  see  if  it  was 
clean,  and,  having  turned  a  huge  spider  out 
of  it,  went  to  the  sideboard. 

"You  are  not  going  to  make  punch  in 
this  great  thing  ?  " 

"  I  am,"  said  Fanny,  returning  with  a  bottle 
in  each  hand  and  one  under  her  arm. 

"  Go  on,"  said  Charles  resignedly.  "  May 
I  smoke  ? " 

"  Of  course,  smoke.  Open  me  this  cham- 
pagne." 

"You  are  not  going  to  put  champagne  in 
punch  ?  " 

"  Everything  is  good  in  punch.  Father 
learned  how  to  make  it  in  Moscow,  when 
he  was  dining  with  the  Hussars  there.  After 
dinner  a  huge  bowl  was  brought  in,  and 
everything  went  in  —  champagne,  whisky, 
brandy,  all  the  fruit  from  the  dessert ;  then 
they  set  it  on  fire,  and  drank  it,  burning." 


A   REVELATION  107 

"Has  your  father  ever  made  punch  like 
that?" 

"No,  but  now  I've  got  him  away,  I  am 
going  to  try." 

Pop  went  the  champagne  cork,  and  the 
golden  wine  ran  creaming  into  the  bowl. 

"  Now  the  brandy." 

"  But  this  will  be  cold  punch." 

"Yes,  it's  just  as  good ;  milk  punch  is  always 
cold." 

"  I'm  blest  if  this  is  milk  punch,"  said  Mr 
Bevan,  as  he  looked  fearfully  into  the  bowl ; 
"but  go  on." 

"  I  am  going  as  quick  as  I  can,"  she  replied. 
Then  the  whisky  went  in,  and  half  a  tumblerfull 
of  cura^oa  also,  the  lemon  cut  in  slices  and  the 
peaches  that  remained. 

"  I  haven't  anything  more  to  throw  in,"  said 
Fanny,  casting  her  eye  over  the  sardines  and 
the  ox  tongue.  "  We  ought  to  have  grapes  and 
things  ;  no  matter,  stir  it  up  and  set  it  on  fire, 
and  see  what  it  tastes  like." 

"But,  my  dear  child,"  said  the  horrified 
Charles,  as  he  stirred  the  seething  mixture 
with  the  old  silver  ladle  into  whose  belly  a 
guinea  had  been  beaten.  "  You  surely  don't 
expect  me  to  drink  this  fearful  stuff?  I  thought 
you  were  making  it  for  fun." 


108  FANNY  LAMBERT 

"  You  taste  it  and  see,  but  set  it  on  fire 
first." 

He  struck  a  match. 

"  It  won't  catch  fire ! "  he  cried.  "  Knew  it 
wouldn't." 

"Well,  taste  it  cold  ;  it  smells  delicious." 

She  plucked  a  rose  from  the  vase  and 
strewed  the  petals  on  the  surface  of  the  liquid 
to  help  the  taste,  whilst  Mr  Bevan  ladled 
some  into  a  glass. 

"  It's  not  bad,  'pon  my  word  it's  not  bad  ;  the 
cura^oa  seems  to  blend  all  the  other  flavours 
together,  but  it's  fearfully  strong." 

"  Wait " — she  ran  to  the  sideboard  for  a 
bottle  of  soda  water. 

"  Mix  it  half  and  half,  and  see  how  it  tastes." 

"  That's  better." 

"  Then  we'll  take  it  into  the  library,  it's  more 
comfortable  there.  You  carry  the  bowl,  and  I 
will  bring  the  candles." 

"  What  are  these  ?  "  asked  Mr  Bevan,  as  he 
removed  some  papers  from  the  library  table  to 
make  room  for  the  punch  bowl. 

"  Oh,  some  papers  of  father's." 

"The  Rorkes  Drift  Gold  Mines." 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  glancing  over  his  shoulder. 
"  I  remember  now ;  those  are  the  things  I  am 


A  REVELATION  109 

to  get  a  silk  dress  out  of  when  they  go  to 
twenty.  Father  is  mad  over  them ;  he  says 
nothing  will  stop  them  when  they  begin  to 
move,  whatever  that  means." 

"Well,  they  have  moved  with  a  vengeance, 
for  only  yesterday  I  heard  they  had  gone 
into  liquidation." 

"  All  the  good  luck  seems  coming  together," 
said  Fanny  with  a  happy  sigh,  as  Charles  went 
to  the  window  and  looked  out  at  the  moon, 
rising  in  a  cloudless  sky  over  the  forsaken 
garden  and  ruined  tennis  ground.  "  Not  that 
it  matters  much  if  we  get  those  jewels  whether 
the  old  mines  go  up  or  down  ;  still,  no  matter 
how  rich  one  becomes,  more  money  is  always 
useful." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  it  is,"  said  he,  looking  with 
a  troubled  but  sentimental  face  at  the  moon 
"Tell  me,  Fanny,  do  you  know  much  about 
the  Stock  Exchange?" 

"Oh,  heaps." 

"  What  do  you  know  ?" 

"  I  know  that  Brighton  A's  are  called  Doras 
— no,  Berthas  —  no,  I  think  it's  Doras  —  and 
Mexican  Railways  are  going  to  Par,  and  the 
Kneedeep  Mines  are  going  to  a  hundred  and 
fifty,  and  father  has  a  thousand  of  them  he 


110  FANNY   LAMBERT 

got  for  sixpence  a  share,  and  he  gave  me 
fifty  for  myself,  but  I'm  not  to  sell  them  till 
they  go  to  a  hundred.  Aren't  stockbrokers 
nice-looking,  and  always  so  well  dressed  ?  I 
saw  hundreds  of  them  one  day  father  left  me 
for  a  moment  in  Angel  Court  whilst  he  ran  in 
to  see  his  broker — Oh  yes !  and  the  bears  are 
going  to  catch  it  at  the  next  settlement." 

"  Do  you  know  what  '  bears  '  are  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Fanny,  "but  they're  going  to 
catch  it  whatever  they  are,  for  I  heard  father 
say  so — Oh,  what  a  moon !  I  am  sure  the 
fairies  must  be  out  to-night." 

"You  don't  mean  to  s^ay  you  believe  in 
such  rubbish  as  fairies  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  believe  in  them ;  not  here  in 
Highgate,  perhaps,  for  there  are  too  many 
people,  but  in  woods  and  places." 

"  But  there  are  no  such  things,  it  has  been 
proved  over  and  over  again  ;  no  one  believes 
in  them  nowadays." 

"  Did  you  never  see  the  mushrooms  growing 
in  rings  ?  Well,  how  could  they  grow  like  that 
if  they  were  not  planted,  and  who'd  be  bothered 
planting  umbrella  mushrooms  in  rings  but  the 
fairies  ?  " 

"  Does  your  father  believe  in  them  ?  " 


A  REVELATION  in 

"  Never  asked  him,  but  of  course  he  does ; 
every  one  does — even  Susannah." 

She  went  to  the  table  and  blew  out  the 
candles. 

"  What  are  you  doing  now  ?  " 

"  Blowing  out  the  lights  ;  it's  so  much  nicer 
sitting  in  the  moonlight.  Fill  your  glass  and 
sit  down  beside  me." 

"  Extraordinary  child,"  thought  Mr  Bevan, 
doing  as  he  was  bid,  whilst  she  opened  the 
window  wide  to  "let  the  moon  in." 

Other  things  came  too,  a  night  moth  and  a 
perfume  of  decaying  leaves,  the  souls  of  last 
year's  sun-flowers  and  hollyhocks  were  abroad 
to-night;  the  distant  paddock  seemed  full  of  cats, 
to  judge  by  the  sounds  that  came  from  it,  and 
bats  were  flickering  in  the  air.  The  voice  of 
Boy- Boy,  metallic  and  rhythmical  as  the  sound 
of  a  trip  hammer,  came  from  a  distant  corner 
of  the  garden  where  he  had  treed  a  cat. 

"Quick,"  said  Fanny,  drawing  in  her  head 
and  pulling  her  companion  by  the  arm,  "and 
you'll  be  in  time  to  see  our  tortoise." 

Charles  regarded  the  quadruped  without 
emotion. 

"  I  don't  see  the  necessity  for  such  frightful 
haste." 


112  FANNY  LAMBERT 

"  Still,  if  you'd  been  a  moment  sooner  the 
moonlight  would  have  been  on  him ;  he  was 
shining  a  moment  ago  like  silver.  Do  you 
know  what  a  tortoise  is?  it's  a  sign  of  age. 
You  and  I  will  be  some  day  like  that  tortoise, 
without  any  teeth,  wheezing  and  coughing  and 
grubbing  along  ;  and  may-be  we  will  look  back 
and  think  of  this  night  when  we  were  young — 
Oh,  dear  me,  I  wish  I  were  dead  !  " 

"Why,  why,  what's  the  matter  now — 
Fanny  ?  " 

"  I  don't  want  to  grow  old,"  pouted  Miss 
Lambert. 

"When  two  people  grow  old  together," 
began  Mr  Bevan  in  whose  brain  the  punch 
was  at  work,  "  they  do  not  notice  the — that 
is  to  say,  age  really  does  not  matter.  Besides, 
a  woman  is  only  as  old  as  she  feels — I  mean 
as  she  looks." 

The  fumes  of  the  punch  of  a  sudden  took 
on  themselves  a  form  as  of  the  pale  phantom 
of  Pamela  Pursehouse,  and  the  phantom  cried, 
"  Begone,  flee  from  temptation  whilst  you  may." 

Before  him  the  concrete  form  of  Miss 
Lambert  sitting  in  the  corner  of  the  window- 
seat  and  bathed  in  moonlight,  said  to  him, 
"  Hug  me." 


THE  GOD  FROM  THE  MACHINE  113 

Her  eyes  were  resting  upon  him,  then  she 
gazed  out  at  the  garden  and  sighed. 

Charles  took  her  hand  :  it  was  not  withdrawn. 
"  I  must  be  going  now,"  he  said. 

She  turned  from  the  garden  and  gazed  at 
him  in  silence. 

A  few  minutes  later,  feeling  clouds  beneath 
his  feet  and  all  sorts  of  new  sensations  around 
his  heart,  he  was  walking  down  the  weed- 
grown  avenue,  Boy- Boy  at  his  heels  barking 
and  snarling,  satisfied  no  doubt  by  some 
preternatural  instinct  that  do  what  he  might 
he  would  not  be  kicked. 

Ere  he  had  reached  the  middle  of  the 
avenue  he  heard  a  voice  calling,  "  Cousin 
Charley ! " 

"  Yes,  Fanny." 

"  Come  back  soon  1 " 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  GOD   FROM   THE   MACHINE 

"THE  LAURELS,  n  P.M. 

"  I  HAVE  been  going  to  write  for  the  last 
few  days,  but  have  been  so  busy.  I  could 
go  on  the  picnic  to-day  if  it  would  suit  you 

H 


114  FANNY  LAMBERT 

I'll  call  at  the  studio  at  one  o'clock.  If  you 
can't  come,  send  me  a  wire.  Oh,  I  forgot  to 
say  Mr  Hancock  came  home  the  other  day 
with  me  and  had  a  long  talk  with  father,  and 
Mr  Bevan  called  to-day  and  was  awfully  jolly, 
and  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it  when  we  meet. 
Give  my  love  to  Mr  Verneede. 

"In  haste  to  catch  the  post. 

"P.S. — I'm  in  such  good  spirits.     F.  L." 

It  was  the  morning  after  the  day  on  which 
Mr  Bevan  had  called  at  "The  Laurels." 
Leavesley  was  in  bed,  and  reading  the  above, 
which  had  come  by  the  early  post,  and  which 
Belinda  had  thrust  under  his  door,  together 
with  a  circular  and  a  bill  for  colours. 

"  Hurrah  !  "  cried  Mr  Leavesley,  and  then 
"  Great  Heavens !  "  He  jumped  out  of  bed, 
and  rummaged  wildly  in  his  pockets.  He 
found  seven  and  sixpence  in  silver,  and  a 
penny  and  a  halfpenny  in  coppers,  a  stump 
of  pencil,  a  tramway  ticket  with  a  hole  punched 
in  it,  and  a  Woodbine  cigarette  packet  con- 
taining one  cigarette.  He  placed  the  money 
on  the  wash-hand-stand,  then  he  sat  for  a 
moment  on  the  side  of  his  bed  disconsolate. 

The  most  beautiful  day  that  ever  dawned, 
the  most  beautiful  girl  in  the  world,  a  chance 


THE  GOD  FROM  THE  MACHINE  115 

of  taking  her  up  the  river,  and  seven  and 
six  to  do  it  on ! 

He  curled  his  toes  about.  Yesterday,  in  a 
fit  of  righteousness,  he  had  paid  a  tailor  two 
pounds  ten  on  account.  He  contemplated 
this  great  mistake  gloomily.  Wild  ideas  of 
calling  on  Mark  Moses  &  Sonenshine  and 
asking  for  the  two  pounds  ten  back  crossed 
his  mind,  to  be  instantly  dispelled. 

The  only  two  men  in  London  who  could 
possibly  help  him  with  a  loan  were,  to  use 
a  Boyle- Rochism,  in  Paris.  Mrs  Tugwell, 
his  landlady,  was  at  Margate,  and  he  was  in 
the  middle  of  his  tri-monthly  squabble  with 
his  uncle.  He  called  up  the  ghost  of  his 
aunt  Patience  Hancock,  and  communed  with 
her  just  for  the  sake  of  self-torture,  and  the 
contemplation  of  the  hopeless. 

Then  he  rang  his  bell,  which  Belinda 
answered. 

"  Breakfast  at  once,   Belinda." 

"  Yessir,  and  here's  another  letter  as  hes 
just  come,"  she  poked  a  square  envelope 
under  the  door.  Leavesley  seized  it  with  a 
palpitating  heart ;  it  was  unstamped,  and  had 
evidently  been  left  in  by  hand. 

"  This  is  the    God  from  the  Machine,"  he 


116  FANNY   LAMBERT 

thought.  "There's  money  in  it,  I  know.  It 
always  happens  like  this  when  things  are  at 
their  worst." 

We  all  have  these  instincts  at  times :  the 
contents  of  an  unopened  letter  or  parcel  seem 
endowed  with  a  voice ;  who  has  not  guessed 
the  fateful  news  in  a  telegram  before  he  has 
broken  open  the  envelope,  even  as  Leavesley 
guessed  the  contents  of  the  letter  in  his  hand  ? 

He  tore  it  open  and  took  out  a  sheet  of 
paper  and  a  pawnbroker's  duplicate.  The  letter 

ran : — 

"NO.  I$OA  KING'S  ROAD, 
"OVER  THE  BACON  SHOP. 

"  DEAR  LEAVESLEY, — I  am  in  bed,  not  suffer- 
ing from  smallpox,  croup,  spinal  meningitis,  or 
any  wasting  or  infectious  disease.  I  am  in  bed, 
my  dear  Leavesley,  simply  for  want  of  my 
trousers.  Robed  in  Jones'  long  ulster,  which 
reacheth  to  my  heels,  I  took  the  aforesaid 
garments  yester-even  after  dusk  to  my  uncle. 
If  help  does  not  come  they  will  have  to  take 
me  to  the  workhouse  in  a  blanket.  I  enclose 
duplicate.  Three  and  sevenpence  would  release 
me  and  them. 

" '  The  die  is  cast 
And  this  is  the  last.' 

"  From  THE  CAPTAIN. 

' P.S. — If  you  have  no  money  send  me  the 
*  Count  of  Monte  Cristo ' — you  have  a  copy ; 


HE  GOD  FROM  THE  MACHINE  117 

or  the  '  Multi-Millionaire.'  I  have  nothing 
to  read  but  a  Financial  News  of  the  day 
before  yesterday." 

Leavesley  groaned  and  laughed,  and  groaned 
again.  Then  he  got  into  his  bath  and  splashed ; 
as  he  splashed  his  spirits  rose  amazingly. 

The  Captain's  letter  had  electrified  the 
Bohemian  part  of  his  nature ;  instead  of 
depressing  him  it  had  done  the  reverse.  Here 
was  another  poor  devil  worse  off  than  himself. 
Leavesley  had  six  pair  of  trousers. 

The  Captain,  in  parenthesis  let  me  say,  has 
no  part  in  this  story.  He  wasn't  a  captain, 
he  was  a  relic  of  the  South  African  War,  a 
gentleman  with  a  taste  for  drink,  amusing, 
harmless,  and  amiable.  I  only  introduce  him 
on  account  of  the  telepathic  interest  of  his 
letter,  or  rather  of  the  way  in  which  Leavesley 
divined  its  contents. 

"  Seven  and  sixpence — I  mean  seven  and 
sevenpence  halfpenny,  is  not  a  bit  of  use," 
said  the  painter  to  himself  when  he  had  finished 
breakfast,  "so  here  goes." 

He  put  three  and  sevenpence  in  an  envelope 
with  the  pathetic  duplicate,  addressed  it  to 
Captain  Waring,  rang  for  Belinda ;  and  when 
that  much-harried  maid-of-all-work  appeared, 


118  FANNY   LAMBERT 

told  her  to  take  it  as  soon  as  she  could  to 
Captain  Waring,  down  the  road  over  the 
bacon  shop,  also  to  call  at  Mr  Verneede's  and 
ask  him  to  come  round  at  twelve. 

Then  he  reached  down  a  finished  picture, 
wrapped  it  in  brown  paper,  put  the  parcel  under 
his  arm  and  started  off. 

He  took  a  complication  of  omnibuses,  and 
arrived  in  Wardour  Street  about  half-past  nine. 

"Mr  Fernandez  is  gone  to  the  country  on 
pizzines,"  said  the  Jew-boy  slave  of  the 
picture  dealer,  who  came  from  the  interior  of 
the  gloomy  shop  like  a  dirty  gnome,  called 
forth  by  the  ring  of  the  door  bell. 

"  Oh,  d—  — n  !  "  said  Leavesley. 

"  He's  gone  on  pizzines,"  replied  the  other. 

"  Where's  he  gone  to  ? " 

"  Down  in  the  country." 

"  Look  here,   I  want  to  sell  a  picture.' 

"  Mr  Fernandez  is  gone  on  pizzines." 

"Oh,  dash  Mr  Fernandez!  Is  there  no 
one  here  I  can  show  the  thing  to  ?  He 
knows  me." 

"  There's  only  me,"  said  the  grimy  sphinx. 

"  Can  you  buy  it  ?  " 

"  No,  I  ain't  no  use  for  buying.  Mr 
Fernandez  is  gone  on " 


THE  GOD  FROM  THE  MACHINE  119 

"Oh,  go  to  the  devil!" 

"This  is  a  nice  sort  of  thing,"  said 
Leavesley  to  himself  as  he  stood  in  Wardour 
Street  perspiring.  "There's  nothing  for  it 
now  but  a  frontal  attack  on  uncle." 

He  made  for  Southampton  Row,  reaching 
the  office  at  ten  o'clock,  about  five  minutes 
after  James  Hancock. 

Hancock  was  dealing  with  his  morning 
correspondence.  A  most  unbendable  old 
gentleman  he  looked  as  he  sat  at  his  table 
before  a  pile  of  letters,  backed  by  the 
numerous  tin  boxes  Leavesley  knew  so  well. 
Boxes  marked  "  The  Gleeson  Estate,"  "  Sir 
H.  Tempest,  Bart,"  etc.  Boxes  that  spoke 
of  wealth  and  business  in  mocking  tones  to 
the  unfortunate  artist,  who  felt  very  much 
as  the  grasshopper  must  have  felt  in  the 
presence  of  the  industrious  ant.  Despite  this 
he  noticed  that  his  uncle  was  more  sprucely 
dressed  than  usual,  and  that  he  had  on  a 
lilac  satin  tie. 

Hancock  looked  at  his  nephew  over  his 
spectacles,  then  through  his  spectacles,  then 
he  pushed  his  spectacles  up  on  his  forehead. 

"  Good  morning,  uncle." 

"  Good  morning." 


120  FANNY  LAMBERT 

"  I  just  looked  in,"  said  Leavesley,  in  a 
light-hearted  way,  "as  I  was  going  by,  to 
see  how  you  were." 

This  was  a  very  bad  opening. 

"  Sit  down,"  said  Hancock.  "  Um — I  wasn't 
aware  that  there  was  anything  the  matter 
with  me." 

"You  were  complaining  of  the  gout  last 
time." 

"  Oh,  bother  the  gout ! "  said  the  old  gentle- 
man, who  hated  to  be  reminded  of  his 
infirmity.  "It  isn't  gout — Garrod  says  it's 
Rheumatoid  Arthritis." 

Leavesley  repented  of  having  played  the 
gout  gambit. 

" — Rheumatoid  Arthritis.  Well,  what  are 
you  doing?" 

"Oh,   I'm  painting." 

"Are  you  selling?"  said  Hancock,  "that's 
more  to  the  point" 

"Oh  yes,  I'm  selling — mildly." 

"Um!" 

"  I  sold  two  pictures  quite  recently." 

"  I  always  told  you,"  said  the  lawyer, 
ignoring  the  last  statement  in  a  most  irritating 
way,  and  speaking  as  if  Leavesley  were  made 
of  glass  and  all  his  affairs  were  arranged  inside 


THE  GOD  FROM  THE  MACHINE  121 

him  for  view  like  damaged  goods  in  a  shop 
window — "  I  always  told  you  painting  doesn't 
pay.  If  you  had  come  into  the  office  you 
might  have  got  on  well ;  but  there  you  are, 
you've  made  your  bed,  and  on  it  you  must 
lie,"  then  in  a  voice  three  shades  gloomier, 
"on  it  you  must  lie." 

Leavesley  glanced  at  the  office  clock,  it 
pointed  to  quarter  past  ten,  and  Fanny  was 
due  at  one. 

"  I  had  a  little  business  to  talk  to  you  about," 
he  said.  "  Look  here,  will  you  give  me  a 
commission  ? " 

"A  what?" 

"  A  commission  for  a  picture." 

"And  five  pounds  on  account,"  was  in  his 
brain,  but  it  did  not  pass  his  tongue. 

"A  picture?"  said  Hancock.  "What  on 
earth  do  I  want  with  pictures?" 

"  Let  me  paint  your  portrait." 

Hancock  made  a  movement  with  his  hand 
as  if  to  say  "Pish!" 

"  Well,  look  here,"  said  Leavesley,  with  the 
cynicism  of  despair,  "let  me  paint  Bridge- 
water,  let  me  paint  the  office,  whitewash  the 
ceilings,  only  give  me  a  show." 

"  I  would  not  mind  the  money  I  have  spent 
on  you,"  said  Hancock,  ignoring  all  this,  "the 


122  FANNY   LAMBERT 

bills  I  have  paid,  if,  to  use  your  own  expression, 
there  was  any  show  for  it ;  but,  as  far  as  I 
can  see,  you  are  like  a  man  in  a  quagmire, 
the  only  advance  you  are  making,  the  only 
advance  visible  to  mortal  eye,  is  that  you 
are  getting  deeper  into  debt;"  then  two  tones 
lower,  "deeper  into  debt." 

"Well,  see  here,  lend  me  a  fiver,"  cried 
Leavesley,  now  grown  desperate  and  impudent. 

James  Hancock  put  his  fingers  into  the 
upper  pocket  of  his  waistcoat,  and  Leavesley's 
heart  made  a  spring  for  his  throat. 

But  Mr  Hancock  did  not  produce  a  five- 
pound  note.  He  produced  a  small  piece  of 
chamois  leather  with  which  he  polished  his 
glasses,  which  he  had  taken  off,  in  a  reflective 
manner. 

"  I'm  awfully  hard  up  for  the  moment,  and 
I  have  pressing  need  of  it.  I  don't  want  you 
to  give  me  the  money,  I'll  pay  it  back." 

Mr  Hancock  put  on  his  glasses  again. 

"  You  come  to  me  as  one  would  come  to 
a  milch  cow,  as  one  would  come  to  a  bank 
in  which  he  had  a  large  deposit." 

He  put  his  hand  in  his  breast-pocket  and 
took  out  a  note-case  that  seemed  simply 
bursting  with  bank-notes. 


THE  GOD  FROM  THE  MACHINE  123 

"  Now  if  I  accommodate  you  with  a  five- 
pound  note  I  must  know,  at  least,  what  the 
pressing  need  is  you  speak  of." 

"  I  want  to  take  a  girl  up  the  river,  for  one 
thing,"  answered  his  nephew,  who  could  no 
more  tell  him  a  lie  about  the  matter,  than  he 
could  steal  a  note  from  that  plethoric  note- 
case. 

James  Hancock  replaced  the  case  in  his 
pocket  and  made  a  motion  with  his  hands 
as  if  to  say  "  that  ends  everything." 

Leavesley  rose  to  go. 

"I'd  have  paid  you  it  back.  No  matter. 
I'm  going  to  write  a  book,  and  make  money 
out  of  it.  I'll  call  it  the  'Art  of  Being  an 
Uncle.'" 

Hancock  made  a  motion  with  his  hands  that 
said,  "Go  away,  I  want  to  read  my  letters." 

"  Now,  look  here,"  said  Leavesley,  with  his 
hand  on  the  door  handle,  and  inspired  with 
another  accession  of  impudence,  "if  you'd 
take  ten  pounds  and  put  it  in  your  pocket, 
and  come  with  me  and  her,  and  have  a  jolly 
good  day  on  the  river,  wouldn't  it  be  better 
than  sitting  in  this  stuffy  old  office  making 
money  that  is  no  use  to  any  one — you  can  only 
live  once." 


124  FANNY   LAMBERT 

"Go  away!"     said  his  uncle. 

"  I'm  going.  Tell  me,  if  I  went  round 
to  aunt  would  she  accommodate  me,  do  you 
think?" 

"  Accommodate  you  to  make  a  fool  of  your- 
self with  a  girl  ?  I  hope  not,  I  sincerely 
hope  not." 

"Well,  I'll  try.     Good  day." 

"  Good  day." 

Leavesley  went  out,  and  shut  the  door. 
Then  he  suddenly  turned,  opened  the  door 
and  looked  in. 

"  I  say,  uncle !  " 

"Well?"  replied  the  unfortunate  Mr  Han- 
cock, in  a  testy  voice. 

"Did  you  never  make  a  fool  of  yourself 
with  a  girl?" 

The  old  gentleman  grew  suddenly  so  crimson 
that  his  nephew  shut  the  door  and  bolted.  He 
little  guessed  how  apropos  that  question  was. 


TRIBULATIONS  OF  AN  AUNT  125 
CHAPTER   III 

TRIBULATIONS   OF   AN    AUNT 

HE  had  scarcely  gone  a  hundred  yards  down 
Southampton  Row,  when  he  heard  his  name 
called. 

"Mr  Frank!" 

He  turned.  Bridgewater  was  pursuing  him 
with  something  in  his  hand. 

"  Mr  James  told  me  to  give  you  this." 

Leavesley  took  the  envelope  presented  to 
him,  and  Bridgewater  bolted  back  to  the 
office  like  a  fat  old  rabbit,  returning  to  its 
burrow. 

In  the  envelope  was  a  sovereign  wrapped 
up  in  a  half  sheet  of  notepaper. 

"  Well,  of  all  the  meannesses ! "  said  the 
dutiful  nephew,  pocketing  the  coin.  "Still, 
it's  decent  of  the  old  boy  after  my  cheeking 
him  like  that.  I  have  now  one  pound  four. 
I'll  go  now  and  cheek  aunt." 

Miss  Hancock  was  in ;  she  had  a  hand- 
kerchief tied  round  her  head,  a  duster  in  her 
hand ;  she  had  just  given  the  cook  warning 
and  was  in  a  debatable  temper.  She  was 


126  FANNY  LAMBERT 

also  in  a  dusting  mood.  She  had  plenty  of 
servants,  yet  the  inspiration  came  on  her  at 
times  to  tie  a  handkerchief  round  her  head 
and  dust. 

"Well?"  she  said,  as  she  led  the  way 
into  the  dining-room,  and  continued  an  attack 
she  was  making  on  the  sideboard  with  her 
duster. 

Leavesley  had  scarcely  the  slightest  hope 
of  financial  assistance  from  this  quarter. 
Patience  had  given  him  half-a-crown  for  a 
birthday  present  once  when  he  was  a  little 
boy,  and  then  worried  it  back  from  him  and 
popped  it  into  a  missionary  box  for  the 
Wallibooboo  Islanders. 

He  never  forgot  that  half-crown. 

"  I've  come  round  to  borrow  some  money 
from  you,"  he  said. 

Patience  sniffed,  and  went  on  with  her 
dusting.  Then  suddenly  she  stopped,  and, 
duster  in  hand,  addressed  him. 

"  Are  you  never  going  to  do  anything  for 
a  living  ?  Have  you  no  idea  of  the  re- 
sponsibilities of  life?  What  are  you  going 
to  do?" 

"  I'm  going  for  a  holiday  in  the  country  if 
I  can  scrape  up  money  enough." 


TRIBULATIONS  OF  AN  AUNT  127 

"You  won't  scrape  it  up  here,"  said  his 
aunt,  continuing  her  dusting;  then,  for  she 
was  as  inquisitive  as  a  mongoose :  "  And 
what  part  of  the  country  do  you  propose  to 
take  a  holiday  in  ? " 

"  Sonning-on-Thames." 

"And  where,  may  I  ask,  is  Sonning-on- 
Thames  ?  " 

"  It's  on  the  Thames.  See  here,  will  you 
lend  me  five  pounds?" 

"Five  -what?" 

"Pounds." 

"What  for?" 

"To  take  a  girl  for  a  trip  to  Sonning-on- 
Thames." 

Miss  Hancock  was  sweeping  with  her 
duster  round  a  glass  arrangement  made  to 
hold  flowers,  in  the  convulsion  incident  on 
this  statement  she  upset  the  thing  and  smashed 
it,  much  to  Leavesley's  delight. 

He  made  for  the  door,  and  stood  for  a 
moment  with  the  handle  in  his  hand. 

"  I'm  awfully  sorry.  Can  I  help  you  to  pick 
it  up?" 

"Go  away,"  said  Miss  Hancock,  who  was 
on  her  knees  collecting  the  fragments  of 
glass ;  "I  want  to  see  nothing  more  of  you. 


128  FANNY   LAMBERT 

If  you  are  lost  to  respectability  you  might 
retain  at  least  common  decency." 

"  Decency ! " 

"Yes,  decency." 

I  don't  know  that  I've  said  anything 
indecent,  or  that  there  is  anything  indecent  in 
going  for  a  day  on  the  river  with  a  girl.  Well, 

I'm    going !      A    luminous    idea   suddenly 

struck  him.  He  knew  the  old  maid's  mind, 
and  the  terror  she  had  of  the  bare  idea  of  her 
brother  marrying ;  he  remembered  the  spruce 
appearance  of  his  uncle  that  morning  and 
the  lavender  satin  necktie.  "  I  say -" 

"Well?" 

"  Talking  of  girls,  how  about  uncle  and 
his  girl  ?  " 

"  Whafs  that  you  say  /" 

"  Nothing,  nothing  ;  I  oughtn't  to  have  said 
anything  about  it.  Well,  I'm  off." 

He  left  the  room  hurriedly  and  shut  the 
door,  before  she  could  call  him  back  he  was 
out  of  the  house. 

His  random  remark  had  hit  the  target 
plumb  in  the  centre  of  the  bull's-eye,  and  could 
he  have  known  the  agitation  and  irritation  in 
the  mind  of  his  aunt  he  would  have  written  off  as 
paid  his  debt  against  the  Wallibooboo  Islanders, 


TRIBULATIONS  OF  AN  AUNT  129 

The  river  was  impossible  now,  and  the  whole 
thing  had  shrunk  to  luncheon  at  the  studio  and 
a  visit  to  Madame  Tussaud's  or  the  Tower. 

He  reached  the  studio  before  twelve,  and 
there  he  found  waiting  for  him  Mr  Verneede 
and  the  Captain. 

The  Captain  was  in  his  trousers  ;  he  had  come 
to  show  them  as  a  proof  of  good  faith  and 
incidentally  to  get  a  glass  of  whisky.  Leavesley 
gave  him  the  whisky  and  sent  him  off,  then  he 
turned  to  Verneede. 

"The  whole  thing  has  bust  up.  Miss 
Lambert  is  coming  at  one  to  go  up  the  river 
and  I  have  no  money.  Stoney  broke ;  isn't  it 
the  deuce  ?  " 

"  How  very  unfortunate ! "  said  Mr  Verneede. 
"  How  very  unfortunate ! " 

"  Unfortunate  isn't  the  name  for  it." 

"  Did  Miss  Lambert  write  ? " 

«<  Yes — Oh,  she  told  me  to  remember  her  to 
you,  sent  her  love  to  you." 

"Ah!" 

"  I've  only  got  one  pound  four." 

"  But  surely,  my  dear  Leavesley — one  pound 
four — why,  it  is  quite  a  little  sum  of  money." 

"It's  not  enough  to  go  up  the  river  on^ 

three  of  us." 

I 


130  FANNY  LAMBERT 

"  Why  go  up  the  river  ?  " 

"  Where  else  can  we  go  ?  " 

"  I  have  an  idea,"  said  Mr  Verneede.  "  May 
I  propound  it  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Have  you  ever  heard  of  Epping  Forest?" 

"Yes." 

"Why  not  go  there  and  spend  a  day  amidst 
the  trees,  the  greenery,  the  blue  sky,  the " 

"  What  would  it  cost  ?  " 

"  A  fractional  sum  ;  one  takes  the  train  to 
Woodford." 

Leavesley  reached  for  an  A.  B.C.  guide  and 
plunged  into  details. 

"  There  are  hamlets  in  the  forest,  where  tea 
may  be  obtained  in  cottages  at  a  reasonable 
cost " 

"  We  can  just  do  it,  I  think,"  said  Leavesley, 
who  had  been  making  distracted  calculations 
on  paper.  He  darted  to  the  bell  and  rang  it. 

"  Belinda,"  he  said,  when  the  slave  of  the 
bell  made  answer,  "  there's  a  lady  coming 
here  to  luncheon,  have  you  anything  in  the 
house  ? " 

Belinda,  with  a  far-away  look  in  her  eyes, 
made  a  mental  survey  of  the  larder,  twiddling 
the  door-handle  to  assist  thought. 


THE   DAISY  CHAIN  131 

"  There's  a  pie,  sir,  and  sassiges,  and  a  cold 
mutton  chop.  There's  half  a  chicken " 

"  That'll  do,  and  get  a  salad.  I'll  run  out  and 
get  some  flowers  and  a  bottle  of  claret." 


CHAPTER   IV 

THE    DAISY    CHAIN 

THEY  were  seated  in  a  dusty  glade  near  a 
road,  near  Woodford,  and  they  had  lost 
Verneede. 

The  loss  did  not  seem  to  affect  them. 
Fanny  had  picked  some  daisies  and  was 
making  a  chain  of  them.  Leavesley  was 
making  and  smoking  cigarettes. 

"  But  what  I  can't  make  out,"  said  Leavesley 
— "  This  fellow  Bevan,  you  said  he  was  a  beast, 
and  now  you  seem  quite  gone  on  him." 

"  I'm  not,"  said  Fanny  indignantly. 

"Well,  I  can  only  judge  from  your  words." 

"  I'm  not  T' — pouting. 

"Well,  there,  I  won't  say  any  more.  He 
stayed  to  luncheon,  you  said  ?  " 

"Yes,"  defiantly,  "and  tea  and  supper;  why 
shouldn't  he?" 


132  FANNY  LAMBERT 

"  Oh,  I  don't  see  why  he  shouldn't,  only  it 
must  have  been  a  visitation.  I  should  think 
.your  father  was  rather  bored." 

Fanny  said  nothing,  but  went  on  with  her 
chain. 

"  What  sort  of  looking  fellow  is  he  ? " 

"  He's  very  nice-looking  ;  at  least  he's  rather 
fat — you  know  the  sort  of  man  I  mean." 

"  And  awfully  rich  ?  " 

"Awfully." 

Leavesley  tore  up  grass  leisurely  and 
viciously. 

"Your  uncle  is  awfully  rich  too,  isn't  he?" 
asked  Miss  Lambert  after  a  moment's  silence. 

"Yes;  why?" 

"  I  was  only  thinking." 

"  What  were  you  only  thinking  ?  " 

"  I  was  thinking  if  I  had  to  marry  one  or 
the  other,  which  I'd  chose." 

Leavesley  squirmed  with  pleasure  :  that  was 
one  for  Bevan.  He  instinctively  hated  Bevan. 
He,  little  knowing  the  mind  of  Miss  Lambert, 
thought  this  indecision  of  choice  between 
his  uncle  and  another  man  an  exquisitely 
veiled  method  of  describing  the  other  man's 
undesirability. 

"  Marry  uncle,"  he  said  with  a  laugh.     "  And 


THE   DAISY   CHAIN  133 

then  we  can  all  live  together  in  Gordon  Square, 
uncle,  and  you,  and  I,  and  aunt,  and  old 
Verneede.  The  house  would  hold  the  lot 
of  us." 

"And  father." 

"Of  course,"  said  Leavesley,  thinking  she 
spoke  in  fun,  "and  a  few  more — the  Captain  : 
you  don't  know  the  Captain ;  he's  a  treasure, 
and  would  make  the  menagerie  quite 
complete." 

"And  we  could  go  for  picnics,"  said  Fanny. 

"  Rather ! " 

She  had  finished  her  daisy-chain,  and  with 
a  charming  and  child  -  like  movement  she 
suddenly  leaned  forward  and  threw  it  round 
his  neck. 

"Oh,  Fanny,"  he  cried,  taking  both  her  little 
hands  in  his,  "  what's  the  good  of  talking 
nonsense  ?  I  love  you,  and  you'll  never  marry 
any  one  but  me." 

Fanny  began  to  cry  just  like  a  little  child, 
and  he  crept  up  to  her  and  put  his  arm  round 
her  waist. 

"  I  love  you,  Fanny.  Listen,  darling,  I 
love  you " 

"Don't  —  don't  —  don't!"  sobbed  the  girl, 
nestling  closer  to  him  at  each  "don't." 


134  FANNY   LAMBERT 

"Why?" 

"  I  was  thinking  just  the  same." 

"What?" 

"  That  I " 

"  That  you ?  " 

"Don't!" 

"  That  you  love  me  ?  " 

Silence  interspersed  with  sobs,  then — 

"  I  don't  love  you,  but  I — could " 

"What?" 

"  Love  you — but  I  mustn't." 

Leavesley  heaved  a  deep  sigh  of  content, 
squeezed  her  closer  and  rocked  her  slightly. 
She  allowed  herself  to  be  nursed  like  this 
for  a  few  heavenly  moments ;  then  she  broke 
away  from  him,  pushed  him  away. 

"  I  mustn't,  I  mustn't — don't ! — do  leave  me 
alone — go  away."  She  increased  the  distance 
between  them.  Tears  were  on  her  long  black 
lashes  —  lashes  tipped  with  brown — and  her 
eyes  were  like  passion  flowers  after  rain — to 
use  a  simile  that  has  never  been  used  before. 

Leavesley  had  got  on  his  hands  and  knees 
to  crawl  closer  towards  her,  and  the  intense 
seriousness  of  his  face,  coupled  with  the  attitude 
of  his  body,  quite  dispelled  Miss  Lambert's 
inclination  to  weep. 


THE   DAISY  CHAIN  135 

"  Don't ! "  she  cried,  laughing  in  a  helpless 
sort  of  way.  "  Do  sit  down,  you  look  so 
funny  like  that." 

He  collapsed,  and  they  sat  opposite  to  each 
other  like  two  tailors,  whilst  Fanny  dried  her 
eyes  and  finished  up  her  few  remaining  sobs. 

A  brake  full  of  trippers  passed  on  the  road 
near  by,  yelling  that  romantic  and  delightful 
song 

"  Bedelia ! 
I  wants  to  steal  yer." 

"  They  re  happy,"  said  Fanny,  listening  with 
a  rapt  expression  as  though  she  were  listen- 
ing to  the  music  of  the  heavenly  choir.  "  I 
wish  I  was  them." 

"  Fanny,"  said  her  lover,  ignoring  this  com- 
prehensive wish,  "  why  can't  you  care  for 
me?" 

"  I  do  care  for  you." 

"  Yes,  but  why  can't  you  marry  me  ?  " 

"  We're  too  poor." 

"I'll  be  making  lots  of  money  soon." 

"How  much?" 

"  Oh,  four  or  five  hundred  a  year." 

"That's  not  enough,"  said  Fanny  with  a 
sigh,  "not  nearly  enough." 

Leavesley  gazed   at   the  mercenary  beauty 


136  FANNY  LAMBERT 

before  him.  Had  he  miscalculated  her?  was 
she  after  all  like  other  girls,  a  daughter  of 
the  horse  leech  ? 

"  I'd  marry  you  to-morrow,"  resumed  she, 
"if  you  hadn't  a  penny — only  for  father." 

"What  about  him  ?" 

"  I  must  help  him.  I  must  marry  a  rich 
man  or  not  marry  at  all.  There " 

"  Do  you  care  for  him  more  than  me  ? " 

"Yes." 

Leavesley  sighed,  then  he  broke  out :  "  But 
it's  dreadful,  he  never  would  ask  you  to  make 
such  a  sacrifice " 

"Father?" 

"  Yes." 

"He!  why,  he  doesn't  care  a  button.  He 
believes  in  people  marrying  whoever  they  like. 
He'd  like  me  to  marry  you.  He  said  only 
the  other  day  you'd  make  a  good  husband 
because  you  didn't  gamble  or  drink,  and  you 
had  no  taste  for  going  to  law." 

Leavesley 's  face  brightened,  he  got  on  his 
hands  and  knees  again  preparatory  to  drawing 
nearer. 

"  Sit  down,"  said  Fanny,  drawing  away. 

"  But  if  you  love  me,"  said  the  lover, 
collapsing  again  into  the  sitting  posture. 


THE   DAISY   CHAIN  137 

"I  don't." 

"  What ! " 

"  Not  enough  to  marry  you.  I  could  if  I 
let  myself  go,  but  I've  just  stopped  myself  in 
time.  I  can't  ever  marry  you." 

"But,  look  here " 

-Yes?" 

"  Suppose  you  do  marry  a  rich  man,  I  don't 
see  how  it  will  benefit  your  father." 

"Won't  it!  I'll  never  marry  a  man  who 
won't  help  father,  and  he  wants  help.  Oh! 
if  you  only  knew  our  affairs,"  said  Miss 
Lambert,  picking  a  daisy  and  looking  at  it, 
and  apparently  addressing  it,  "  the  hair  would 
stand  up  on  the  top  of  your  head." 

"  Are  they  so  bad  as  all  that,  Fanny  ?  " 

"  Bad  isn't  the  word,"  replied  Miss  Lambert, 
plucking  the  petals  from  the  daisy  one  by  one. 
"  '  He  loves  me — he  loves  me  not — he  loves  me 
— he  loves  me  not — he  loves  me.' " 

"Who?" 

"You." 

He  got  on  his  hands  and  knees  again. 

"Sit  down." 

"  But,  see  here,  listen  to  me  :  are  you  really 
serious  in  what  you  have  just  said  ? " 

"  I  am." 


138  FANNY   LAMBERT 

"  Well,  promise  me  one  thing :  you  won't 
marry  any  one  just  yet." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  just  yet  ?" 

"  Oh,  till  I  have  a  chance,  till  I  strike  oil, 
till  I  begin  to  make  a  fortune ! " 

"  How  long  will  that  be  ? "  asked  Miss 
Lambert  cautiously. 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  the  unhappy  painter. 

"  If  the  Roorkes  Drift  Mines  would  only  go 
up  to  two  hundred,"  said  the  girl,  plucking 
another  daisy,  "I'd  marry  you;  father  has  a 
whole  trunkful  of  them.  He  got  them  at 
sixpence  each,  and  if  they  went  to  two  hundred 
they'd  be  worth  half  a  million  of  money." 

"  Is  there  any  chance,  do  you  think?"  asked 
Leavesley  brightening.  He  knew  something 
of  stock  exchange  jargon.  The  Captain  was 
great  on  stock  exchange  matters,  when  he 
was  not  occupied  in  pawning  his  clothes  and 
sending  wild  messages  to  his  friends  for 
assistance. 

"  I  think  so,"  said  Fanny.  "  Mr  Bevan  said 
they  were  going  into  Liqui something." 

"  Liquidation." 

"Yes— that's  it.'r 

Leavesley  sighed.  An  old  grey  horse 
cropping  the  grass  near  by  came  and  looked 


THE   DAISY  CHAIN  139 

gloomily  at  the  humans,  snorted,  and  resumed 
his  meal. 

"What's  the  time?"  asked  Miss  Lambert, 
putting  on  her  gloves.  Leavesley  looked  at 
his  watch. 

"  Half-past  six." 

"Gracious!  let's  go;  it  will  take  us  hours 
to  get  home."  She  rose  to  her  feet  and 
shook  her  dress. 

"  I  wonder  where  old  Mr  Verneede  can 
be  ? "  said  the  girl,  looking  round  as  though 
to  find  him  lurking  amidst  the  foliage.  "  It's 
awful  if  we've  lost  him." 

"  We  have  his  ticket,  too,"  said  Leavesley. 
"  He's  very  likely  gone  back  to  the  station ; 
if  we  don't  find  him  there  I'll  leave  his  ticket 
with  the  station-master." 

He  rose  up,  and  the  daisy-chain  round  his 
neck  fell  all  to  pieces  in  ruin  to  the  ground. 

They  found  Mr  Verneede  waiting  for  them 
at  the  station,  smelling  of  beer,  and  conversing 
with  the  station-master  on  the  weather  and 
the  crops. 

At  Liverpool  Street,  having  seen  Miss 
Lambert  into  an  omnibus  (she  refused  to  be 
seen  home,  knowing  full  well  the  distance 
from  Highgate  to  Chelsea),  Leavesley,  filled 


140  FANNY  LAMBERT 

with  a  great  depression  of  spirits,  went  with 
Verneede  and  sat  in  pubs,  and  smoked  clay 
pipes,  and  drank  beer. 

This  sorry  pastime  occupied  them  till  12.30, 
when  they  took  leave  of  each  other  in  the 
King's  Road,  Leavesley  miserable,  and 
Verneede  maudlin. 

"  She  sent  me  her  love,"  said  Mr  Verneede, 
clinging  to  his  companion's  hand,  and  working 
it  like  a  pump  handle.  "  Bless  you — bless 
you,  my  boy — don't  take  any  more — Go — 
bless  you." 

When  Leavesley  looked  back  he  saw  Mr 
Verneede  apparently  trying  to  go  home  arm- 
in-arm  with  a  lamp-post. 


AN  ASSIGNATION  141 


PART  III 
CHAPTER  I 

AN    ASSIGNATION 

So,  it  would  seem  from  the  artless  confession 
of  Miss  Lambert,  that  Patience  Hancock  had 
only  too  much  reason  for  her  fears :  the  lilac 
silk  necktie  had  not  been  bought  for  the 
edification  of  Bridgewater  and  the  junior 
clerks. 

That  the  correct  James  Hancock  had 
fuddled  himself  with  punch,  told  droll  stories, 
and  lent  Mr  Lambert  twenty  pounds,  were 
facts  so  utterly  at  variance  with  the  known 
character  of  that  gentleman  as  to  be  un- 
believable by  the  people  who  knew  him  well. 

Not  by  people  well  acquainted  with  human 
nature,  or  the  fact  that  a  grain  of  good-fellow- 
ship in  the  human  heart  exhibits  extraordinary 
and  radium-like  activity  under  certain  con- 

141 


142  FANNY  LAMBERT 

ditions  :  the  conditions  induced  by  punch 
and  beauty  and  good-fellowship  in  others, 
for  instance. 

One  morning,  after  the  day  upon  which  he 
had  refused  to  assist  Frank  Leavesley  to 
"make  a  fool  of  himself  with  a  girl,"  James 
Hancock  arrived  at  his  office  at  the  usual 
time,  in  the  usual  manner,  and,  nodding  to 
Bridgewater  as  he  had  nodded  to  him  every 
morning  for  the  last  thirty  years,  passed  into 
the  inner  office  and  closed  the  door. 

The  closing  of  the  door  was  a  new  departure  ; 
it  had  generally  been  left  ajar  as  an  indication 
that  Bridgewater  might  come  in  whenever 
he  chose,  to  receive  instructions  and  to  con- 
sult upon  the  morning  letters. 

The  expression  on  Bridgewater's  face  when 
he  heard  the  closing  of  the  door  was  so  extra- 
ordinarily funny,  that  one  of  the  younger  clerks, 
who  caught  a  glimpse  of  it,  hastily  stuffed  his 
handkerchief  into  his  mouth  and  choked  silently 
behind  the  lid  of  his  desk. 

Quarter  of  an  hour  passed,  and  then  the  door 
opened. 

"  Bridgewater ! " 

The  old  gentleman  stuck  his  pen  behind  his 
ear  and  answered  the  summons. 


AN  ASSIGNATION  143 

James  Hancock  was  seated  at  his  desk.  On 
it  lay  an  envelope  addressed  in  a  lady's  hand- 
writing ;  he  covered  the  envelope  with  a  piece 
of  blotting  paper  as  Bridgewater  entered. 

"  I'm  going  out  this  morning,  Bridgewater, 
on  some  private  business." 

"Out  this  morning?"  echoed  Bridgewater  in 
a  tentative  tone. 

"  Yes  ;   I  leave  you  in  charge." 

"  But  Purvis,  Mr  James,  Purvis  has  an 
appointment  with  you  at  twelve." 

"Oh,  bother  Purvis!  Tell  him  to  call  to- 
morrow, his  affair  will  wait ;  tell  him  the  deed 
is  not  drawn  and  to  come  again  to-morrow." 

"  How  about  Isaacs?" 

"Solomon  Isaacs?" 

"Yes,  Mr  James." 

"  What  time  is  he  coming  ?  " 

"  Half-past  eleven." 

"Tell  him  to  come  to-morrow." 

"  I'm  afraid  he  won't.     I'm " 

"If  he  won't,"  said  Mr  Hancock  with  some 
acerbity,  "  tell  him  to  go  to  the  devil.  I  don't 
want  his  business  especially  —  let  him  find 
some  one  else.  Now  see  here,  about  these 
letters." 

He  went  into  the  morning  letters,  dictating 


144  FANNY  LAMBERT 

replies  to  the  more  important  ones  and  leaving 
the  rest  to  the  discretion  of  his  clerk. 

"And,  Bridgewater,"  said  Mr  Hancock,  as 
the  senior  clerk  turned  to  depart,  "  I  am  expect- 
ing a  lady  to  call  here  at  half-past  ten  or  quarter 
to  eleven  :  show  her  in,  it's  Miss  Lambert." 

"  You  have  had  no  word  from  Mr  Charles 
Bevan,  sir,  since  he  called  the  other  day  ?  " 

"  Not  a  word.  He  is  a  very  hot-headed 
young  man ;  he  inherits  the  Bevan  temper,  the 
Bevan  temper,"  reiterated  James  Hancock  in 
a  reflective  tone,  tapping  his  snuff-box  and 
taking  a  leisurely  pinch.  "  I  remember  his 
father  John  Bevan  at  Ipswich,  during  the 
election,  threatening  to  horsewhip  my  father ; 
then  when  he  found  he  was  in  the  wrong,  or 
rather  that  his  own  rascally  solicitor  was  in  the 
wrong,  he  apologised  very  handsomely  and 
came  to  us.  The  family  affairs  have  been  in  our 
hands  ever  since,  as  you  know,  and,  though  I 
say  it  myself,  they  could  not  have  been  in 
better." 

"  May  I  ask,  Mr  James,  how  affairs  are  with 
the  Lamberts  ? — a  sweetly  pretty  young  lady  is 
Miss  Lambert,  and  so  nice  spoken." 

"  The  Lamberts'  affairs  seem  very  much 
involved ;  but  you  know,  Bridgewater,  I  have 


AN  ASSIGNATION  145 

nothing  to  do  with  their  affairs.  I  called  to 
see  Mr  Lambert  purely  as  a  friend.  It  would  be 

very  unprofessional  to  call  otherwise.  D n 

it !  "  suddenly  broke  out  old  Hancock,  as  if  some 
one  had  pricked  him  with  a  pin,  "a  man  is  not 
always  a  business  man.  I'm  getting  on  in  life. 
I  have  money  enough  and  to  spare.  I've  done 
pretty  much  as  I  liked  all  my  life,  and  I'll  do 
so  to  the  end ;  yes,  and  I'd  break  all  the  laws 
of  professional  etiquette  one  after  the  other 
to-morrow  if  I  chose." 

Bridgewater's  amazed  face  was  the  only 
amazed  part  of  his  anatomy ;  he  was  used  to 
these  occasional  petulant  outbursts,  and  he 
fooked  on  them  with  equanimity. 

Hancock  had  been  threatening  to  retire 
from  business  for  the  last  ten  years,  to  retire 
from  business  and  buy  a  country  place  and 
breed  horses.  No  one  knew  so  well  as 
Bridgewater  the  impossibility  of  this  and  the 
extent  to  which  his  master  was  bound  up  in 
his  business — the  business  was  his  life. 

He  retired,  mumbling  something  that 
sounded  like  an  assent,  and  going  to  his  desk 
put  the  letters  in  order. 

Mr   Hancock,   left  to  himself,  took  a  letter 

from  his  breast-pocket.     It  was   addressed  in 

K 


146  FANNY   LAMBERT 

a  large  careless  hand  to 

"  JAMES  HANCOCK,  ESQ. 

GORDON  SQUARE. 

It  ran : — 

"  DEAR  MR  HANCOCK, — I'll  be  delighted  to 
come  to-morrow  ;  I  haven't  seen  the  Zoo  for 
years,  not  since  I  was  quite  small.  No,  don't 
trouble  to  come  and  fetch  me,  I  will  call 
at  the  office  at  half-past  ten  or  quarter 
to  eleven,  that  will  be  simpler. — Yours  very 
sincerely, 

"  FANNY  LAMBERT." 

"I'll  be  hanged  if  it's  simpler,"  grumbled 
James  Hancock,  as  he  returned  the  letter  to 
his  pocket.  "  Why  in  the  name  of  all  that's 
sacred  couldn't  she  have  let  me  call  ?  —  the 
clerks  will  talk  so.  No  matter,  let  them — I 
don't  care." 

"Miss  Lambert,"  said  Bridge  water,  opening 
the  door. 

Mr  Hancock  might  have  thought  that  Spring 
herself  stood  before  him  in  the  open  doorway, 
such  a  pleasing  and  perfect  vision  did  Miss 
Lambert  make.  She  was  attired  in  a  chip 
hat,  and  a  dress  of  something  light  in  texture 
and  lilac  in  colour,  and,  from  the  vivacity  of 
her  manner  and  the  general  sprightliness  of 


AN  ASSIGNATION  147 

her   appearance,   seemed  bent  upon  a  day  of 
pleasure. 

"  I'm  so  awfully  sorry  to  be  so  soon,"  said 
Miss  Lambert.  "  It's  only  twenty  minutes  past 
ten ;  the  clocks  have  all  gone  wrong  at  home. 
James  broke  out  again  yesterday ;  he  went  out 
and  took  far,  far  too  much  ;  isn't  it  dreadful  ?  I 
don't  know  what  we  are  to  do  with  him,  and 
he  wound  up  the  clocks  last  night,  and  I 
believe  he  has  broken  them  all,  at  least 
they  won't  go.  Father  has  gone  away 
again ;  he  is  down  in  Sussex  paying  a 
visit  to  a  Miss  Pursehouse,  we  met  her 
in  Paris.  She  asked  me  to  come  too,  but 
I  had  to  refuse  because  my  dressmaker — I 
mean,  Susannah  couldn't  be  left  by  her- 
self, she  smashes  things  so.  She  fell  on 
the  kitchen  stairs  this  morning,  bringing 
the  breakfast  things  up — are  you  busy  ?  and 
are  you  sure  I'm  not  bothering  you  or  inter- 
fering with  clients  and  things  ?  I  arrived  here 
really  at  ten  minutes  past  ten,  and  walked  up 
and  down  outside  till  people  began  to  stare 
at  me,  so  I  came  in." 

"  Not  a  bit  busy,"  said  Mr  Hancock ; 
"delighted  you've  come  so  early.  Is  that 
chair  comfortable  ?  " 


148  FANNY  LAMBERT 

"Quite,  thanks." 

"  Sure  you  won't  take  this  easy-chair  ? " 

"  No,  no ;  this  is  a  delightful  chair.  Who 
is  that  nice  old  man  who  showed  me  in?" 

"  Bridgewater,  my  chief  clerk.  Yes,  he  is 
a  very  good  sort  of  man  Bridgewater ;  he's 
been  with  us  now  a  number  of  years." 

M  I  like  him,  because  he  always  smiles  at 
me  and  looks  so  friendly  and  so  funny. 
He's  the  kind  of  man  one  feels  one  would 
like  to  knit  something  for ;  a — muffler  or 
mittens.  I  will,  next  Christmas,  if  he 
wouldn't  be  offended." 

"  Offended !  Good  heavens,  no,  he'd  be 
delighted — perfectly  delighted,  I'm  sure,  per- 
fectly. Come  in ! " 

"A  telegram,  sir,"  spoke  Bridge  water's 
voice.  He  always  "  sir'd "  his  master  in  the 
presence  of  strangers. 

"  Excuse  me,"  said  Mr  Hancock,  putting 
on  his  glasses  and  opening  the  telegram. 
He  read  it  carefully,  frowned,  then  smiled, 
and  handed  it  to  Fanny. 

"Am  I  to  read  it?"  said  the  girl. 

"  Please." 

Fanny  read : — 

"  I  relinquish  fishing-rights.  Make  the  best 
terms  with  Lambert  you  can. — BEVAN." 


AN   ASSIGNATION  149 

"  Isn't  it  nice  of  him  ? "  she  said  without 
evincing  any  surprise ;  "  he  told  me  he  would 
when  he  called." 

"Told  you  he  would?" 

"Yes." 

"  When  did  you  see  Mr  Bevan  ? " 

"  Why,  he  called — didn't  I  tell  you  ? — oh  no, 
I  forgot — he  called,  and  he  was  awfully  nice. 
Quite  the  nicest  man  I've  met  for  a  long  time. 
He  stayed  to  luncheon  and  tea  and  supper." 

"  Was  your  father  at  home  ? " 

"No." 

"  I  would  rather  this  had  not  happened," 
said  Mr  Hancock  in  a  slightly  pained  voice. 
"Mr  Bevan  is  a  gentleman  for  whom  I 
have  great  respect,  but  considering  the 
absence  of  your  father,  the  absence  of  a 
host — er — er — conventionalities,  um " 

"  Oh,  he  didn't  seem  to  mind,"  said  Fanny  ; 
"he  knew  father  was  away,  and  took  us  just 
as  we  were.  He's  awfully  rich,  I  suppose, 
but  he  was  just  as  pleasant  as  if  he  were 
poor  —  came  marketing  and  carried  the 
basket ;  and,  I  declare  to  goodness,  if  I  had 
known  we  had  such  a  jolly  cousin  before, 
I'd  have  gone  and  hunted  him  up  myself 
in  the—'  Albany/  isn't  it  ?  " 


150  FANNY   LAMBERT 

"  Mr  Bevan  lives  in  the  'Albany,'"  said  the 
lawyer.  "It  is  a  bachelors'  residence,  and 
scarcely  a  place — scarcely  a  place  for  a — er — 
lady  to  call — no,  scarcely  a  place  for  a  lady 
to  call.  However,  what's  done  is  done,  and 
we  must  make  the  best  of  it." 

"  If  I  had  only  thought,"  said  Fanny,  who 
had  not  been  listening  to  the  humming  and 
hawing  of  Mr  Hancock,  "  I'd  have  asked  him 
to  come  with  us  to-day.  Gracious !  it's  just 
eleven.  Shall  we  go  ?  " 

Mr  Hancock  took  his  hat  and  umbrella, 
opened  the  door,  and  they  passed  out. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE    EMOTIONS    OF    MR    BRIDGEWATER 

MR  BRIDGEWATER'S  emotions,  when  he  saw 
his  principal  following  the  pretty  Miss 
Lambert,  were  mixed. 

He  saw  through  the  whole  thing  at  once : 
she  had  come  by  appointment,  and  they  were 
going  somewhere  together. 

Now,  on  the  day  when   he  had   called   to 


BRIDGEWATER'S   EMOTIONS    151 

lunch  with  Patience  Hancock,  and  look  over 
the  lease  .of  the  Peckham  House,  the  Peckham 
House  had  not  been  once  mentioned ;  the 
whole  conversation,  conducted  chiefly  by  Miss 
Hancock,  concerned  the  welfare  of  her  brother. 
She  hinted  at  certain  news,  supposed  to  have 
been  received  by  her,  that  a  designing  woman 
had  her  eye  on  her  treasure ;  she  implored 
her  listener  to  let  her  know  if  he  saw  any 
indication  of  the  truth  of  these  reports.  "  For 
you  know,  Bridgewater,"  said  she,  indicating 
that  the  decanter  was  at  his  side,  and  that  he 
might  help  himself  to  his  third  glass  of  port, 
"there  is  no  fool  like  an  old  fool,"  to  which 
axiom  Bridgewater  giggled  assent. 

He  promised  to  keep  a  "sharp  look-out," 
and  inform  her  of  what  he  saw  from  time 
to  time.  And  it  did  not  require  a  very 
sharp  look-out  to  see  what  he  saw  this 
morning. 

As  we  have  indicated,  his  emotions  were 
mixed.  Fanny's  face,  her  "sweetly  pretty  face," 
appealed  to  him  ;  that  she  had  fascinated  Mr 
James,  he  felt  sure;  that  he  ought  instantly 
to  inform  Miss  Hancock  he  felt  certain ;  that 
he  had  a  lot  of  important  letters  to  write  and 
business  to  transact  with  Mr  Purvis  and  Mr 


152  FANNY  LAMBERT 

Isaacs  were  facts.  Between  these  facts  and 
these  fancies  the  old  man  sat  scratching  his 
head  with  the  stump  of  his  pen,  staring  at 
the  letters  before  him,  and  pretending  to  be 
busy.  Born  in  the  age  of  valentines  and 
sentiment,  he  had  carried  along  with  him 
through  life  a  "  feeling "  for  the  other  sex ; 
to  be  frank,  the  feeling  was  compounded 
mainly  of  shyness,  but  not  altogether.  I 
doubt  if  there  lives  a  man  in  whose  life's 
history  there  exists  not  a  woman  in  some 
form  or  other,  either  living  and  active  in  the 
present,  or  dead  and  a  memory — a  leaf  in 
amber. 

In  old  Bridgewater's  brain  there  lived, 
keeping  company  with  other  futilities  of  youth, 
a  girl.  The  winters  and  the  springs  of  forty- 
five  years  had  left  her  just  the  same,  red- 
cheeked  and  buxom,  commonplace,  pretty,  with 
an  undecided  mouth,  and  a  crinoline.  As  he 
sat  cogitating,  this  old  mental  daguerreotype 
took  on  fresh  colours.  He  saw  the  sunlight 
on  a  certain  street  in  Hoxton,  and  heard  the 
tinkle  of  a  piano,  long  gone  to  limbo,  playing 
a  tune  that  memory  had  in  some  mysterious 
way  bound  up  with  the  perfume  of  wall-flowers. 

He  remembered  a  Christmas  card  that  pulled 


BRIDGEWATER'S   EMOTIONS   153 

out  like  a  concertina :  a  shocking  production 
of  art  which  gave  a  vista  of  a  garden  in 
filigree  paper  leading  to  a  house. 

A  feeling  of  tenderness  possessed  him.  Why 
should  he  move  in  a  matter  that  did  not  concern 
him  ?  He  determined  to  remain  neutral,  and, 
with  the  object  of  dismissing  the  matter  from 
his  mind,  turned  to  his  letters. 

But  this  kindly,  though  inferior  being  was 
dominated  by  a  strong  and  active  intelligence, 
and  that  intelligence  existed  in  the  brain  of 
a  woman. 

Whilst  he  made  notes  and  dictated  to  a 
clerk,  this  alien  intelligence  was  voicing  its 
commands  in  the  sub-conscious  portions  of 
his  brain.  He  began  to  hesitate  in  his  dicta- 
tion and  to  shuffle  his  feet,  to  pause  and  to 
dictate  nonsense.  Then  rising  and  taking  his 
hat,  he  asked  Mr  Wolf,  his  second  in  command, 
to  take  charge,  as  he  had  business  which  would 

o     ' 

keep  him  away  for  half  an  hour — and  made 
for  the  door.  In  Southampton  Row  he  walked 
twenty  yards,  retraced  his  steps,  paused,  blew 
his  nose  in  a  huge  bandana  handkerchief,  and 
then,  travelling  as  if  driven  by  clockwork  well 
wound  up,  he  made  for  Gordon  Square. 
The  servant  said  that  Miss  Hancock  was 


154  FANNY   LAMBERT 

dressing  to  go  out,  and  invited  him  into  the  cave- 
like  dining-room.  She  then  closed  the  door  and 
left  him  to  the  tender  mercies  of  the  place. 

Decision  was  not  the  most  noteworthy 
characteristic  of  Mr  Bridgewater,  nor  tact. 
He  stood,  consulting  the  clock  on  the  mantel- 
piece, yet,  had  you  asked  him,  he  could  not 
have  told  you  the  time.  Having  come  into 
the  place  of  his  own  volition  he  was  now 
endeavouring  to  get  up  volition  enough  to 
enable  him  to  leave. 

"Well,  Bridgewater?"  said  a  voice.  The 
old  man  turned.  Miss  Hancock,  dressed  for 
going  out,  stood  before  him. 

"  Why,  I  declare,  Miss  Patience ! "  said 
Bridgewater,  as  if  the  woman  before  him 
was  the  very  last  person  on  earth  he  expected 
to  see. 

"  You  have  found  me  just  in  time,  for  I 
was  going  out.  I  am  in  a  hurry,  so  I  won't 
ask  you  to  sit  down.  Can  I  do  anything  for 
you?" 

Bridgewater  rubbed  his  nose. 

"  It's  about  a  little  matter,  Miss  Patience." 

"Yes?" 

"A  little  matter  concerning  Mr  James/' 

"Yes?" 


BRIDGEWATER'S   EMOTIONS   155 

"I  am  afraid — I  am  afraid,  Miss  Patience, 
there  is — well — not  to  put  too  fine  a  point 
upon  it — a  lady." 

''What  is  this  you  say,  Bridgewater?  But 
sit  down." 

"A  lady,    Miss  Patience." 

"You've  said  that  before — what  lady,  and 
what  about  her  ?  "  The  recollection  of  Leaves- 
ley's  words  shot  up  in  her  brain. 

"  Dear  me,  dear  me !  I  wish  I  hadn't  spoken 
now.  I'm  sure  it's  nothing  wrong.  I  think, 
very  possibly,  I  have  been  mistaken." 

"John  Bridgewater,"  said  Miss  Hancock, 
"  you  have  known  me  from  my  childhood, 
you  know  I  hate  shuffling,  come  to  the  point 
— there  is  a  lady — well,  I  have  known  it  all 
along,  so  you  need  not  be  afraid  to  speak. 
Just  tell  me  all  you  know.  You  are  very 
well  aware  that  no  one  cares  for  Mr  James 
as  much  as  I  do.  You  are  very  well  aware 
that  some  men  need  protecting.  You  know 
very  well  there  is  no  better-hearted  man  in 
the  world  than  my  brother." 

"  None  indeed." 

"  And  you  know  very  well  that  he  is  just 
the  man  to  fall  a  victim  to  a  designing 
woman.  Think  for  a  moment.  What  would 


156  FANNY   LAMBERT 

a  woman  see  in  a  man  of  his  age,  except  his 
money." 

"Very  true;  though  I'm  sure,  Miss  Patience, 
no  man  would  make  a  better  husband  for  a 
woman  than  Mr  James." 

"Oh,  don't  talk  nonsense!  When  a  man 
arrives  at  his  age,  he  is  too  old  to  be  made 
into  a  husband,  but  he  is  not  too  old  to  be 
made  into  a  fool.  Now  tell  me  all  you  know 
about  this  affair.  First  of  all,  what  is  the — 
person's  name  ?  " 

"  The  person  I  suspect,  Miss  Patience, 
though  indeed  my  suspicions  may  be  wrong, 
is  a  Miss  Lambert." 

"  Surely  not  any  relation  of  the  Highgate 
Lamberts  ?  " 

"  The  daughter,  Miss  Patience." 

"  That  broken-down  lot !  Good  heavens ! 
Are  you  sure  ?  " 

"Perfectly  sure." 

"  The  daughter  of  the  man  who  is  fighting 
with  Mr  Bevan  about  the  fish  pond  ? " 

"  Stream." 

"  It's  the  same.     Well,  go  on." 

"  Miss  Fanny  Lambert  called  some  time 
ago  on  Mr  James.  She  called  in  distress 
about  the  action.  Mr  James  interviewed  her, 


BRIDGEWATER'S   EMOTIONS   157 

and  discovered  that  her  father  was  in  a  very 
bad  way,  financially  speaking.  He  took  pity 
on  them " 

"Idiot!" 

" and  called  at  Highgate  to  see  Mr 

Lambert.  He  became  very  friendly  with  Mr 
Lambert.  Then  Miss  Fanny  Lambert  called 
again." 

"What  about?" 

"  I  don't  know.  And  to-day,  this  morning, 
she  called  again." 

"  Called  at  the  office  this  morning  ? " 

"Yes." 

"What  did  she  call  for?" 

Bridge  water  was  silent. 

"  I  repeat,"  said  Miss  Hancock,  speaking 
as  an  examiner  might  speak  to  a  candidate, 
"I  repeat,  what  did  she  call  for?  You  surely 
must  have  some  inkling." 

"  I  am  afraid  she  called  about  nothing.  I'm 
afraid  so,  very  much  afraid  so." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I'm  afraid,  Miss  Patience,  it  was  an 
assignation." 

"How  long  did  she  stay ? " 

"  About  twenty  minutes ;  but  that  is  not 
the  worst." 


158  FANNY  LAMBERT 

"Goon." 

"They  went  out  together." 

"How  long  was  my  brother  out  with  her?" 

"  He  hasn't  come  back ;  he  has  gone  for 
the  day — told  me  to  take  charge  of  the  office." 

"You  mean  they  went  out  together  like 
that  and  you  did  not  follow  them  to  see  where 
they  went  ? " 

"Yes." 

"Oh,  you  idiot r 

"  How  could  I,  Miss  Patience  ?  " 

"  How  could  you — yes,  that's  just  it.  How 
could  you,  when  you  had  such  a  chance,  let  it 
slip  through  your  fingers  ?  " 

"  But  the  office  ?" 

"The  office — why,  you  have  left  the  office 
to  come  round  here.  If  you  could  leave  it 
to  come  here,  surely  you  could  have  left  it 
for  a  more  important  purpose.  Well,  you 
may  take  this  from  me :  soon  there  will  be 
no  office  to  leave.  It's  quite  possible  that 
if  Mr  James  makes  a  fool  of  himself,  he'll 
leave  business  and  do  what  he's  always 
threatening  to  do — go  in  for  farming.  When 
a  man  once  begins  making  a  fool  of  himself, 
he  goes  on  doing  so,  the  appetite  comes  with 
eating.  Well,  you  had  better  go  back  to  the 


office  and  remember  this  for  your  own  sake,  for 
my  sake,  for  Mr  James'  sake,  keep  your  eyes 
open.  If  you  get  another  chance,  follow  them." 
Bridgewater  left  the  house  walking  in  a 
very  depressed  manner.  In  Oxford  Street  he 
entered  a  bar  and  had  a  glass  of  sherry  and 
a  biscuit.  As  he  left  the  bar,  who  should  he 
see  but  James  Hancock  —  James  Hancock, 
and  Fanny  side  by  side.  They  were  looking 
in  at  a  shop  window. 


CHAPTER   III 

AN    OLD    MAN'S    OUTING 

ON  leaving  the  office,  the  happy  thought  had 
occurred  to  Fanny  of  telegraphing  at  once  to 
her  father  apprising  him  of  Charles  Bevan's 
decision.  Accordingly  they  sought  the  nearest 
telegraph  office,  where  Miss  Lambert  indited 
the  following  despatch  :  — 

11  To  LAMBERT, 

C/O  MlSS  PURSEHOUSE, 

THE  ROOST,  ROOKHURST. 

"Mr  Bevan  has  stopped  the  action.      Isn't  it 
sweet  of  him  ?  " 


160  FANNY   LAMBERT 

"  Any  name  ?  "  asked  the  clerk. 

"Oh  yes,"  replied  Fanny,  suddenly  re- 
membering that  her  connection  with  the 
matter  ought  to  be  kept  dark.  "  Put 
Hancock." 

Then  they  sought  Oxford  Street,  where 
Fanny  remembered  that  she  had  some 
shopping  to  do. 

"  I  won't  be  a  minute,"  she  said,  pausing 
before  a  draper's.  "  Will  you  come  in,  or  wait 
outside  ?  " 

Mr  Hancock  elected  to  wait  outside,  and 
he  waited. 

It  was  an  unfortunate  shop  for  a  man  to 
wait  before  :  there  was  nothing  in  the  windows 
but  lingerie  ;  the  shop  on  the  left  of  it  was 
a  bonnet  shop,  and  the  establishment  on  the 
right  was  a  bar. 

So  he  had  to  wait,  standing  on  the  kerb- 
stone, in  full  view  of  mankind.  In  two 
minutes  three  men  passed  who  knew  him, 
and  in  the  middle  of  the  fourth  minute  old 
Sir  Henry  Tempest,  one  of  his  best  clients, 
who  was  driving  by  in  a  hansom,  stopped, 
got  out  and  button-holed  him. 

"  Just  the  man  I  want  to  see,  what  a  piece  of 
luck !  I  was  going  to  your  office.  See  here, 


AN  OLD   MAN'S   OUTING      161 

that  d d  scamp  of  a  Sawyer  has  sent  me  in 

a  bill  for  sixteen  pounds — sixteen  pounds  for 
those  repairs  I  spoke  to  you  about.  Why ! 
I'd  have  got  'em  done  for  six  if  he  had  left 
them  to  me.  But  jump  into  the  cab,  and 
come  and  have  luncheon,  and  we  can  talk 
things  over." 

"  I  can't,"  said  Mr  Hancock,  "  I  am  waiting 
for  a  lady — my  sister,  she  has  just  gone  into 
that  shop.  I'll  tell  you,  I  will  see  you,  any 
time  you  like,  to-morrow." 

"Well,  I  suppose  that  must  do.  But  six- 
teen pounds ! — people  seem  to  think  I  am  made 
of  money.  I  tell  you  what,  Hancock,  the 
great  art  in  getting  through  life  is  to  make 
yourself  out  a  poor  man — go  about  in  an  old 
coat  and  hat ;  you  are  just  as  comfortable,  and 
you  are  not  pestered  by  every  beggar  and 
beast  that  wants  money." 

"  Decidedly,  decidedly  —  I  think  you  are 
right,"  said  his  listener,  standing  now  on  one 
foot,  now  on  the  other. 

"  Once  you  get  the  reputation  of  being  rich 
you  are  ruined — what's  the  matter  with  you  ?  " 

"  Twinges  of  gout,  twinges  of  gout.  I  can't 
get  rid  of  it." 

"  Gout  ?    Have  you  been  to  a  doctor  for  it  ?  " 


162  FANNY  LAMBERT 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  don't  mind  what  he  says ;  try  my 
remedy.  Gout,  my  dear  sir,  is  incurable  with 
drugs,  I've  tried  'em.  You  try  hot  air  baths 
and  vegetarianism  ;  it  cured  me.  I  don't  say 
a  strictly  vegetarian  diet,  but  just  as  little  meat 
as  you  can  take.  I  get  it  myself.  Hancock, 
we're  not  so  young  as  we  were,  and  the  wine 
and  women  of  our  youth  revisit  us ;  yes,  the 
wine  and  women- 
He  stopped.  Fanny  had  just  emerged  from 
the  shop. 

The  cabman  who  drove  Sir  Henry  Tempest 
that  day  from  Oxford  Street  to  the  Raleigh 
Club  has  not  yet  solved  the  problem  as  to 
"  what  the  old  gent,  was  laughing  about." 

"  I'm  awfully  sorry  to  have  kept  you  such  a 
time,"  said  Fanny,  as  they  wandered  away, 
"  but  those  shopmen  are  so  stupid.  Who  was 
that  nice-looking  old  gentleman  you  were 
talking  to  ?  " 

"  That  was  Sir  Henry  Tempest ;  but  he 
never  struck  me  as  being  especially  nice-look- 
ing. He  is  not  a  bad  man  in  his  way — but  a 
bore  ;  yes,  very  decidedly  a  bore." 

"  Come  here,"  said  Fanny,  from  whose  facile 
mind  the  charms  of  Sir  Henry  Tempest  had 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   OUTING       163 

vanished — "  Come  here,  and    I    will    buy  you 
something."     She  turned  to  a  jeweller's  shop. 

"  But,     my    dear    child,"    said    James,     "  I 
never  wear  jewellery — never." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mean  really  to  buy  you  some- 
thing, I  only  mean  make  belief — window-shop- 
ping, you  know.  I  often  go  out  by  myself  and 
buy  heaps  of  things  like  that,  watches  and 
carriages,  and  all  sorts  of  things.  I  enjoy  it 
just  as  much  as  if  I  were  buying  them  really  ; 
more,  I  think,  for  I  don't  get  tired  of  them. 
Do  you  know  that  when  I  want  a  thing  and 
get  it  I  don't  want  it  any  more  ?  I  often  get 
married  like  that." 

"Like  what?"  asked  the  astonished  Mr 
Hancock. 

"  Window-shopping.  I  see  sometimes  such 
a  nice-looking  man  in  the  street  or  the  park, 
then  I  marry  him  and  he's  ever  so  nice  ;  but 
if  I  married  him  really  I'm  sure  I'd  hate  him, 
or  at  least  be  tired  of  him  in  a  day  or  two. 
Now,  see  here!  I  will  buy  you — let  me  see — 
let  me  see — that !  "  She  pointed  suddenly  to 
an  atrocious  carbuncle  scarf-pin.  "  That,  and 
that  watch  with  the  long  hand  that  goes 
hopping  round.  You  can  have  the  whole 
window,"  said  Fanny,  suddenly  becoming 


164  FANNY   LAMBERT 

lavishly  generous.  "  But  the  scarf-pin  would 
suit  you,  and  the  watch  would  be  useful  for 
—  for  —  well,  it  looks  like  a  business  man's 
watch." 

Mr  Hancock  sighed.  "  Say  an  old  man's 
watch,  Fanny — may  I  call  you  Fanny  ?  " 

"  Of  course,  if  you  like.  But  you're  not 
old,  you're  quite  young;  at  least  you're  just 
as  jolly  as  if  you  were.  But  come,  or  we  will 
be  late  for  the  Zoo." 

"Wait,"  said  Mr  Hancock;  "there  is  lots 
of  time  for  the  Zoo.  Now  look  at  the  window 
and  buy  yourself  a  present." 

"I'll  buy  that,"  said  Miss  Lambert  promptly, 
pointing  to  a  little  watch  crusted  with  brilliants. 

Mr  Hancock  noted  the  watch  and  the  name 
and  number  of  the  shop,  and  they  passed  on. 

Mr  Hancock  found  that  progress  with  such 
a  companion  in  Oxford  Street  was  a  slow 
affair.  The  extraordinary  fascination  exercised 
by  the  shops  upon  his  charge  astonished  him  ; 
everything  seemed  to  interest  her,  even  churns. 
The  normal  state  of  her  brain  seemed  only 
comparable  to  that  of  a  person's  who  is 
recovering  from  an  illness. 

It  was  after  twelve  when  they  reached 
Mudie's  library. 


AN   OLD   MAN'S   OUTING      165 

"Now,"  said  Mr  Hancock,  pausing  and  rest- 
ing on  his  umbrella,  "  I  am  rather  perplexed." 

"What  about?" 

"  Luncheon.  If  we  take  a  cab  to  the  Zoo 
now,  we  will  have  to  lunch  there  or  in  the 
neighbourhood.  I  do  not  know  whether  they 
provide  luncheons  at  the  Zoo  or  whether  there 
is  even  a  refreshment  room  there." 

"You  can  buy  buns,"  said  Fanny;  "at 
least,  I  have  a  dim  recollection  of  buns  when 
I  was  there  last.  We  bought  them  for  the 
bears  ;  but  whether  they  were  meant  for  people 
to  eat,  or  only  made  on  purpose  for  the  animals, 
I  don't  know." 

"  Just  so.  I  think  we  had  better  defer  our 
visit  till  after  luncheon ;  but,  meanwhile,  what 
shall  we  do  ?  It  is  now  ten  minutes  past 
twelve ;  we  cannot  possibly  lunch  till  one. 
Shall  we  explore  the  Museum  ?  " 

"Oh!  not  the  Museum,"  said  Fanny;  "it 
always  takes  my  appetite  away.  I  suppose 
it's  the  mummies.  I'll  tell  you  what,  we  will 
go  and  have  ices  in  that  cafe  over  there." 

They  crossed  to  the  Vienna  Cafe",  and  seated 
themselves  at  a  little  marble  table. 

"  Father  and  I  come  here  often,"  said  Fanny, 
"  when  we  are  in  this  part  of  the  town ;  we 


166  FANNY   LAMBERT 

know  every  one  here."  She  bowed  and  smiled 
to  the  lady  who  sits  in  the  little  glass  count- 
ing house,  who  smiled  and  bowed  in  return. 
"  That  was  Hermann — the  man  who  went  for 
our  ices ;  and  that's  Fritz,  the  waiter,  over 
there,  with  the  bald  head."  She  caught  Fritz's 
eye,  who  smiled  and  bowed.  "  I  don't  see 
Henri — I  suppose  he's  married ;  he  told  us 
he  was  going  to  get  married  the  last  time 
we  were  here,  to  a  girl  who  keeps  the 
accounts  in  a  cafe  in  Soho,  somewhere,  and 
I  promised  him  to  send  them  a  wedding 
present.  He  was  such  a  nice  man,  like  a  Count 
in  disguise ;  you  know  the  sort  of  looking  man 
I  mean.  What  shall  I  send  him  ?  " 

James  Hancock  ran  over  all  the  wedding 
presents  he  could  remember  in  his  mind ;  he 
thought  of  clocks,  candlesticks,  silver-plated 
mustard  pots. 

"  Send  him  a — clock." 

"Yes,  I'll  send  him  a  clock.  Wait  till  I  ask 
where  they  live." 

She  rose  and  approached  the  lady  at  the 
counting-house ;  a  brisk  conversation  ensued, 
the  lady  speaking  much  with  her  hands  and 
eyes,  which  she  raised  alternately  to  heaven. 

Fanny  came  back  looking  sorrowful.     "  He's 


gone,"  she  said ;   "I  never  could  have  thought 
it!" 

"  Why  should  he  not  go  ?  " 

"Yes,  but  he  went  with  the  spoons  and 
forks  and  things,  and  there  was  no  girl  at 
Soho." 

"  Never  trust  those  plausible  gentlemen  who 
look  like  Italian  Counts,"  said  James  Hancock, 
not  entirely  displeased  with  the  melodramatic 
news. 

"  Whom  is  one  to  trust  ?  "  asked  Fanny,  with 
the  air  of  a  woman  whose  life's  illusion  is 
shattered. 

James  Hancock  couldn't  quite  say.  "  Trust 
me"  rose  to  his  lips,  but  the  sentiment  was 
not  uttered,  partly  because  it  would  have 
been  too  previous,  and  partly  because 
Hermann  had  just  placed  before  him  an 
enormous  ice-cream. 

"  You  are  not  eating  your  ice  !  " 

"  It's  too  hot — ah,  um — I  mean  it's  too  cold," 
said  Mr  Hancock,  waking  from  a  moment's 
reverie.  "  That  is  to  say,  I  scarcely  ever  eat 
ices."  The  fact  that  a  sweet  vanilla  ice  was 
simply  food  and  drink  to  the  gout  was  a  dietetic 
truism  he  did  not  care  to  utter. 

"  If,"  said  Fanny,  with  the  air  of  a  mother 


168  FANNY  LAMBERT 

speaking  to  her  child,  "  if  you  don't  eat  your 
ice  I  will  never  take  you  shopping  with  me 
again.  Please  eat  it,  I  feel  so  greedy  eating 
alone." 

Mr  Hancock  seized  a  spoon  and  attacked 
che  formidable  structure  before  him. 

"  I  hope  I'll  never  grow  old,"  sighed  Miss 
Lambert,  as  Hermann  approached  them  with 
a  huge  dish  of  fantastic-looking  cakes — cakes 
crusted  with  sugar  and  chocolate,  Moscow 
Gateaux  simply  sodden  with  rum,  and 
Merangues  filled  with  cream  rich  as  Devon- 
shire could  make  it. 

"  We  must  all  grow  old,"  said  Ha/icock, 
staring  with  ghastly  eyes  at  these  atrocities. 
"  But  why  do  you  specially  fear  age  ?  Age 
has  its  beauties,  it  must  come  to  us  all." 

"  I  don't  want  to  grow  old,"  said  his 
companion,  "because  then  I  would  not  care 
for  sweets  any  more.  Father  says  the  older 
he  grows  the  less  he  cares  for  sweets,  and 
that  every  one  loses  their  sweet  tooth  at  fifty. 
I  hope  I'll  never  lose  mine ;  if  I  do  I'll — get 
a  false  one." 

Mr  Hancock  leisurely  helped  himself  to 
one  of  the  largest  and  sweetest-looking  of 
the  specimens  of  "  Italian  confectionery"  before 


A   MEETING  169 

him  ;    Fanny  helped   herself  to   its  twin,  and 
there  was  silence  for  a  moment. 

It  is  strange  that  whilst  a  man  may  admit 
his  age  to  a  woman  he  cares  for,  by  word 
of  mouth,  he  will  do  much  before  he  admits 
it  by  his  actions. 


CHAPTER   IV 

A   MEETING 

OF  all  places  in  the  world  the  Zoo  is, 
perhaps,  the  most  uninspiring  to  your  diffident 
lover,  but  Mr  Hancock  was  fond  of  zoology, 
It  was  a  mild  sort  of  hobby  which  he 
cultivated  in  his  few  leisure  moments,  and 
he  was  not  displeased  to  air  his  knowledge 
before  his  pretty  friend,  and  to  show  her  that 
he  had  a  taste  for  things  other  than  forensic. 
Accordingly  in  the  Bird  House  he  began  to 
show  off.  This  was  a  mistake.  If  you  have 
a  hobby,  conceal  it  till  after  marriage.  The 
man  with  a  hobby,  once  he  lets  himself  loose 
upon  his  pet  subject  or  occupation,  always 
bores.  He  is  like  a  man  in  drink,  he  does 
not  know  the  extent  of  his  own  stupidity; 


170  FANNY   LAMBERT 

lost  in  his  own  paradise  he  is  unconscious  of 
the  trouble  and  weariness  he  is  inflicting  on 
the  unfortunates  who  happen  to  be  his 
companions — unlike  a  man  in  drink,  he  is 
rarely  amusing. 

There  were  birds  with  legs  without  end, 
and  birds  apparently  with  no  legs  at  all,  nut- 
cracker-billed birds,  birds  without  tails,  and 
things  that  seemed  simply  tails  without  birds. 

Before  a  long-tailed  bird  that  bore  a  dim 
resemblance  to  himself,  Mr  Hancock  paused 
and  began  to  instruct  his  companion.  When 
he  had  bored  her  sufficiently  they  passed  to 
the  great  Ape  House,  and  from  there  to  the 
Monkey  House. 

They  had  paused  to  consider  the  Dog-faced 
Ape,  when  Fanny,  whose  eyes  were  wandering 
about  the  place,  gave  a  little  start  and  plucked 
her  companion  by  the  sleeve.  "  Look,"  she 
said,  "there's  old  Mr  Bridgewater ! " 

"  Why !  God  bless  my  soul,  so  it  is  !  "  cried 
Hancock.  "What  the  —  what  the  —  what 
the " 


BRIDGEWATER'S  ADVENTURES  171 


CHAPTER   V 

THE   ADVENTURES    OF    BRIDGEWATER 

THE  appearance  of  shame  and  conscious  guilt 
that  suffused  the  face  and  person  of  Bridge- 
water  caused  the  wild  idea  to  rush  through 
his  employer's  mind  that  the  old  man  had, 
vulgarly  speaking,  "  scooped  the  till "  and 
was  attempting  evasion. 

Defaulters  bound  for  America  or  France 
do  not,  however,  as  a  rule,  take  the  Monkey 
House  at  the  Zoo  en  route,  and  the  practical 
mind  of  James  Hancock  rejected  the  idea  at 
once,  and  gripped  the  truth  of  the  matter. 
Bridgewater  had  been  following  him  for  the 
purpose  of  spying  upon  him. 

The  unhappy  Bridgewater  had  indeed  been 
following  him. 

When,  emerging  from  the  bar,  he  had  per- 
ceived his  quarry  he  had  followed  them  at  a 
safe  distance.  When  they  went  into  the 
Vienna  Cafe  he  waited  ;  it  seemed  to  him  that 
he  waited  three  hours :  it  was,  in  fact,  an  hour 
and  a  quarter.  For,  having  finished  her  ice 


172  FANNY   LAMBERT 

and  its  accompaniments,  Fanny  had  declared 
that  she  was  quite  ready  for  luncheon,  and 
had  proposed  that  they  should  proceed  to  the 
meal  at  once  without  seeking  a  new  cafe". 

When  they  came  out,  Bridgewater  took  up 
the  pursuit.  They  got  into  a  hansom :  he 
got  into  another,  and  ordered  the  driver  to 
pursue  the  first  vehicle  at  a  safe  distance. 
He  did  this  from  instinct,  not  as  a  result  of 
having  read  Gaboriau,  or  the  "  Adventures 
of  Sherlock  Holmes." 

The  long  wait,  the  upset  of  all  his  usual 
ways,  and  the  fact  that  he  had  not  lunched, 
coupled  with  his  dread  of  a  hansom — hitherto 
when  he  had  moved  on  wheels  it  had  always 
been  on  those  of  a  four-wheeler  or  omnibus 
—conspired  to  reduce  him  mentally  to  the 
condition  of  an  over-driven  sheep. 

They  left  the  part  of  the  town  he  knew, 
and  passed  through  streets  he  knew  not  of, 
streets  upon  streets,  and  still  the  first  vehicle 
pursued  its  way  with  undiminished  speed.  He 
felt  now  a  dim  certainty  that  his  employer  was 
going  to  be  married,  and  now  he  tried  to 
occupy  his  scattered  wits  in  attempting  to 
compute  what  this  frightful  cab  journey  would 
cost. 


BRIDGEWATER'S  ADVENTURES  173 

At  the  Zoo  gates  the  first  hansom  stopped. 

"  Pull  up,"  cried  Bridgewater,  poking  his 
umbrella  through  the  trap. 

He  alighted  a  hundred  yards  from  the  gates. 
At  the  turnstile  he  paid  his  shilling  and  went 
in,  but  Fanny  and  her  companion  had 
vanished  as  completely  as  if  the  polar  bear 
had  swallowed  them  up. 

He  wandered  away  through  the  gardens 
aimlessly,  but  keeping  a  sharp  look-out.  He 
had  never  been  to  the  Zoo  before,  but  guessed 
it  was  the  Zoo  because  of  the  animals.  The 
whole  adventure  had  the  complexion  of  a 
nightmare,  a  complexion  not  brightened  by 
the  melancholy  appearance  of  the  eagles  and 
vultures  and  the  distant  roaring  and  lowing 
of  unknown  beasts. 

He  saw  an  elephant  advancing  towards  him 
swinging  its  trunk  like  a  pendulum ;  to  avoid 
it  he  took  a  path  that  led  to  the  Fish  House. 
His  one  desire  now  was  to  get  out  of  the 
gardens  and  get  home.  He  recognised  now 
that  he  had  made  a  serious  mistake  in  enter- 
ing the  gardens  at  all.  To  have  returned  at 
once  to  Miss  Hancock  with  the  information 
that  her  brother  had  simply  taken  Miss 
Lambert  to  the  Zoo  would  have  been 


174  FANNY   LAMBERT 

the     proper     and     sensible    course    to     have 
pursued. 

Now  at  any  moment  he  might  find  himself 
confronted  with  the  two  people  he  dreaded  to 
meet.  What  should  he  say  suppose  he  met 
them  ?  What  could  he  say  ?  The  anguish 
of  this  thought  drove  him  from  the  Fish 
House,  where  he  had  taken  temporary  refuge. 
He  took  a  path  which  ended  in  an  elephant ; 
it  was  the  same  elephant  he  had  seen  before, 
but  he  did  not  know  it.  A  side  path,  which 
he  pursued  hastily,  brought  him  to  the  polar 
bear.  Here  he  asked  his  way  to  the  nearest 
gate  of  a  young  man  and  maiden  who  were 
gazing  at  the  bear.  The  young  man  promptly 
pointed  out  a  path  ;  he  took  it,  and  found 
himself  at  the  Monkey  House. 

He  took  off  his  hat  and  mopped  his  head 
with  his  bandana  handkerchief.  Looking 
round  in  bewilderment  after  this  refreshing 
operation  he  saw  something  approaching  far 
worse  than  an  elephant ;  it  was  Mr  Hancock, 
and  with  Mr  Hancock,  Fanny,  making  directly 
for  him. 

He  did  not  hesitate  a  moment  in  doing 
the  worst  thing  possible ;  as  an  animal  enters 
a  trap,  he  entered  the  Monkey  House.  He 


BRIDGEWATER'S  ADVENTURES   175 

would  have  shut  and  bolted  the  door  behind 
him  had  such  a  proceeding  been  feasible. 

Bridge  water  had  a  horror  of  monkeys ;  he 
had  always  considered  the  common  organ- 
grinder's  monkey  to  be  the  representative  of 
all  its  kind,  and  the  last  production  of  nature 
in  frightfulness ;  but  here  were  monkeys  of 
every  shape,  size,  and  colour,  a  symphony 
of  monkeys,  each  "  note  "  more  horrible  than 
the  last. 

If  you  have  ever  studied  monkeys  and 
their  ways  you  will  know  that  they  have 
their  likes  and  dislikes  just  like  men.  That 
some  people  "appeal"  to  them  at  first  sight, 
and  some  people  do  not.  Bridgewater  did  not. 
When  he  saw  Fanny  entering  at  the  door 
he  retreated  to  the  furthest  limits  of  the 
place  and  pretended  to  be  engaged  in  con- 
templation of  a  peculiarly  sinister  -  looking 
ape,  upon  which,  to  judge  from  its  appear- 
ance, a  schoolboy  had  been  at  work  with  a 
brushful  of  blue  paint. 

The  azure  and  sinister  one  endured  the 
human's  gaze  for  a  few  mutterful  moments, 
and  then  bursting  into  loud  yells  flew  at  the 
bars  and  attempted  to  tear  them  from  their 
sockets ;  the  mandrills  shrieked  and  chattered, 


176  FANNY   LAMBERT 

the   lemur   added   his    note,   and    Bridgewater 
beat  a  retreat. 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  Fanny's  wander- 
ing gaze  caught  him. 


CHAPTER  VI 

A   CONFESSION 

MR  HANCOCK,  asking  Fanny  to  wait  for  him 
for  a  short  time,  took  Bridgewater  by  the 
arm  and  led  him  outside. 

"  Now,  Bridgewater,  what  is  the  meaning 
of  this  ?  Why  have  you  left  the  office  ? 
Why  have  you  followed  me  ?  What  earthly 
reason  had  you  for  doing  such  a  thing? 
Speak  out,  man — are  you  dumb  ?  " 

"  I  declare  to  God,  Mr  James,"  said  the 
unhappy  Bridgewater,  "  I  had  no  reason " 

"No  reason ! — are  you  mad  ?  Bridgewater, 
you  haven't  been — drinking?" 

"Drinking!"  cried  Bridgewater,  with  what 
your  melodramatist  would  call  a  hollow  laugh. 
"  Drinking  ! — oh  yes — drinking  ?  No  !  No  ! 
— don't  mind  me,  Mr  James.  Drinking! 
One  blessed  glass  of  sherry,  and  not  a  bite 


A  CONFESSION  177 

have  I  had — waiting  two  hours  and  more 
— following  you  in  a  cab — three  shillings  the 
fare  was — nearly  torn  in  pieces  by  an  ape — 
following  you  and  hiding  in  all  sorts  of 
places,  and  then  told  I've  been  drinking. 
Do  I  look  as  if  I  had  been  drinking,  Mr 
James?  Am  I  given  to  drinking,  Mr 
James?  Have  you  known  me  for  forty 
years,  Mr  James,  and  have  you  ever  seen 
me  do  such  a  thing?  Answer  me  that,  Mr 
James " 

"  Hush,  hush ! — don't  talk  so  loud,"  said 
Hancock,  rather  alarmed  at  the  old  man's 
hysterical  manner.  "  No,  you  are  the  last 
person  to  do  such  a  thing,  but  tell  me,  all 
the  same,  why  you  followed  me." 

Bridgewater  was  dumb.  Hungry,  thirsty, 
frightened  at  being  caught  spying,  startled  by 
elephants  and  addled  by  apes  as  he  was,  still 
his  manhood  revolted  at  the  idea  of  betraying 
Patience  and  sheltering  himself  at  her  expense. 
All  the  same,  he  attempted  very  feminine 
tactics  in  endeavouring  to  evade  a  direct  reply. 

"  Drinking !  I  have  been  in  the  office,  man 
and  boy,  this  fifty  years  and  more  come  next 
Michaelmas  ;  it's  fifty-one  years,  fifty-one  years 
next  Michaelmas  Day,  every  day  at  my  place 

M 


178  FANNY  LAMBERT 

but  Sundays  and  holidays,  year  in,  year 
out " 

"  Bridgewater,"  repeated  Mr  Hancock,  "will 
you  answer  me  the  question  I  just  asked  you  ? 
Why  did  you  follow  me  to-day  ? " 

"Oh  Lord,"  said  Bridgewater,  "  I  wish  I  had 
never  seen  this  day !  Follow  you,  Mr  James  ? 
do  you  think  I  followed  you  for  pleasure  ?  Why, 
the  office — God  bless  my  soul !  it  makes  my  hair 
stand  on  end — no  one  there  but  Wolf  to  take 
charge,  and  I  have  been  away  hours  and  hours. 
It's  three  o'clock  now,  and  here  am  I  miles  and 
miles  away ;  and  I  ought  to  have  called  at  the 
law  courts  at  3.20,  and  there's  those  bills  to 
file.  It  seems  all  like  a  horrible  nightmare, 
that  it  does ;  it  seems " 

"  I  don't  want  to  know  what  it  seems.  You 
have  left  your  duty  and  come  away — for  what 
purpose  ?  " 

Silence. 

"  Ah  well ! "  said  Hancock,  speaking  not  in 
the  least  angrily,  "  I  see  there  is  a  secret  of 
some  sort.  I  regret  that  a  man  in  whom  I 
have  always  placed  implicit  trust  should  keep 
from  me  a  secret  that  concerns  me ;  evidently — 
no  matter,  I  am  not  curious.  Yes,  it  is  three 
o'clock ;  it  might  be  as  well  for  you  to  return 


A   CONFESSION  179 

and  look  after  things,  though  it  is  too  late 
for  the  law  courts  now." 

This  tone  and  manner  completely  floored 
Bridgewater.  The  fountains  of  his  great  deep 
were  broken  up,  and  if  Patience  Hancock  could 
have  seen  the  damage  done  to  his  confidential 
reservoir,  she  would  have  shuddered. 

"  I'll  tell  you  the  truth,  Mr  James.  It's  not 
my  fault — she  put  me  to  the  work.  I'll  tell  you 
the  truth.  I've  been  following  you  and  spying 
upon  you,  but  it  was  for  your  own  good,  she 
said 

"Who  said?" 

"  Miss  Patience." 

"  Miss  Patience  told  you  to  follow  me 
to-day?" 

"Yes." 

"  But  what  on  earth — how  on  earth  did  she 
know  I  was — er — coming  here  ?  " 

"  She  didn't  know." 

"  Well,  how  the  devil  did  she  tell  you  to 
follow  me,  then  ?  " 

"  She  wanted  to  know  where  you  were  going 
to." 

"  But,"  roared  Hancock,  whose  face  had 
been  slowly  crimsoning,  or  purpling  rather, 
since  the  mention  of  his  sister's  name,  "  how 


180  FANNY  LAMBERT 

the  blazes  did  she  know  I  was  going  any- 
where ?  " 

"When  I  saw  you  going  out  of  the  office 
with  Miss  Lambert  I  ran  round  and  told 
her." 

"When  you  saw  me  going  out  of  the  office 
with  Miss  Lambert  you  ran  round  and  told 
her!"  said  Hancock,  spacing  each  word  and 
speaking  with  such  a  change  from  fire  to  ice 
that  his  listener  shivered.  "  Oh,  this  is 
too  good!  I  pay  you  a  large  salary  to 
spy  upon  me  and  to  run  round  and  tell 
my  sister  my  doings.  Am  I  mad,  or  am  I 
dreaming?  And  what — what — WHAT  led  you, 
sir,  to  leave  the  office  and  run  round  and  tell 
my  sister?" 

"  For  God's  sake,  Mr  James,  don't  talk  so 
loud ! "  said  Bridge  water ;  "  the  people  are 
turning  round  to  look  at  us.  I  didn't  leave 
the  office  of  my  own  accord ;  it  was  Miss 
Patience,  who  said  to  me,  she  said,  '  Bridge- 
water,  I  trust  you  for  your  master's  sake 
to  let  me  know  if  you  see  him  with  a  lady, 
for,'  she  said,  *  there  is  a  woman  who  has 
designs  on  him. ' 

"Ah!" 

"  Those  were   her  words.     So  when  I  saw 


A   CONFESSION  181 

you  going  out  with  Miss  Lambert  I  ran  round 
and  told  her." 

"  Ah !  " 

Mr  Hancock  had  fallen  from  fury  into  a 
thoughtful  mood :  one  of  the  sharpest  brains 
in  London  was  engaged  in  unravelling  the 
meaning  to  get  at  the  inner-meaning  of  all  this. 

"  My  sister  came  round  to  the  office  some 
time  ago  asking  me  to  spare  you  for  an  hour 
as  she  wished  for  your  advice  about  a  lease. 
That,  of  course,  was  all  humbug :  she  wanted 
you  for  the  purpose  of  talking  about  me?" 

"That  is  true." 

"  The  lease  was  never  mentioned  ?  " 

"Not  once,  Mr  James." 

"All  the  conversation  was  about  me  and 
my  welfare  ?  " 

"That  it  was." 

"  Now  see  here,  Bridgewater,  cast  your 
memory  back.  Is  this  the  first  time  in  your 
life  that  my  sister  has  invited  you  to  my 
house  in  Gordon  Square  to  discuss  my 
welfare  ?  " 

"  No  indeed,  sir.    I've  been  there  before." 

"  How  many  times  ?  " 

Bridgewater  assumed  the  cast  of  countenance 
he  always  assumed  when  engaged  in  reckoning. 


182  FANNY   LAMBERT 

"That's  enough,"  said  Hancock,  "don't 
count.  Now  tell  me,  when  did  she  first  begin 
to  take  you  into  her  confidence  —  twenty 
years  ago  ?  " 

"Yes,  Mr  James,  fully  that." 

Hancock  made  a  sound  like  a  groan. 

"And  twenty  years  ago  it  was  the  same 
tale  :  '  Protect  my  brother  from  a  designing 


woman.' 


"Why,  it  was,  and  that's  the  truth,"  said 
Bridgewater,  as  if  the  fact  had  just  been  dis- 
covered by  him. 

"  And  you  did  your  best,  told  her  all  about 
me  and  my  movements,  as  far  as  you  knew 
them,  and  mixed  and  muddled,  and  made  an 
ass  of  yourself  and  a  fool  of  me " 

"  Oh,  Mr  James ! " 

"  Hold  your  tongue ! — a  fool  of  me.  Do 
you  know,  John  Bridgewater,  that  you  have 
been  aiding  and  abetting  in  a  conspiracy— 
a  conspiracy  unpunishable  by  law,  but  still 
a  conspiracy — hold  your  tongue ! — you  are 
innocent  of  everything  but  of  being  a  fool ; 
indeed,  I  ought  not  to  call  any  man  a  fool, 
for  I  have  been  a  fool  myself,  and  I  ought 
to  have  seen  that  the  one  end  and  aim  of 
my  sister's  life  was  to  secure  her  position  as 


A   CONFESSION  183 

my  keeper,  and  her  tenure  of  my  house.  You 
have  shown  me  at  one  flash  a  worm  that  has 
crawled  through  my  past,  cankering  and  corrod- 
ing all  it  touched.  Money,  money,  money — 
that  is  my  sister's  creed.  I  am  not  young, 
Bridgewater,  and  it  seems  to  me  that  if  instead 
of  living  all  these  years  side  by  side  with  this 
money-grub,  I  had  lived  side  by  side  with  a 
wife,  my  lot  would  have  been  a  better  one. 
I  might  have  had  children,  grown-up  sons 
now,  daughters — things  that  make  an  interest 
for  us  in  our  old  age.  Between  me  and  all 
that  has  come  my  sister.  That  woman  has 
a  very  strong  will.  I  see  many  things  in  the 
past  now,  ay,  twenty  years  ago,  that  I  can 
explain.  Bridgewater,  you  have  done  me  a 
great  injury,  but  you  did  it  for  the  best,  and 
I  forgive  you.  Half  the  people  in  this  world 
are  pawns  and  chess-pieces,  moved  about  by 
the  men  and  women  of  intellect  who  form  the 
other  half.  If  you  had  possessed  eyes  to  see, 
you  might  have  seen  that  the  really  designing 
woman  against  whom  I  should  have  been 
protected,  was  the  woman  with  whom  you 
leagued  yourself — my  sister." 

The  expression   on   Bridgewater's  face  was 
so  wonderfully  funny  that  Hancock  would  have 


184  FANNY  LAMBERT 

laughed  had  he  not  been  in  such  a  serious 
mood. 

"  However,  what's  done  is  done,  and  there 
is  no  use  in  crying  over  spilt  milk.  You  have 
at  least  done  me  a  service  by  your  stupidity 
in  following  me  to-day,  for  you  have  shown 
me  the  light.  Miss  Lambert  pleases  me,  and 
if  I  choose  to  make  her  mistress  of  my  house, 
instead  of  my  sister,  mistress  of  my  house 
she  will  be.  We  will  return  now  to — where  I 
left  Miss  Lambert,  and  we  will  all  go  home 
to  Gordon  Square  and  have  dinner  with  my 
sister." 

"Not  me,  Mr  James,"  gasped  Bridgewater, 
"  I  don't  feel  well." 

"  Nonsense !  you  need  not  fear  my  sister. 
She  is  no  longer  mistress  of  my  house ;  next 
week  she  shall  pack  bag  and  baggage.  Come." 

He  turned  towards  the  Monkey  House, 
and  Bridgewater  followed  him,  so  mazed  in 
his  intellect  that  it  would  be  hard  to  tell 
whether  monkeys,  men,  Fanny  Lambert, 
Patience  Hancock,  or  elephants,  were  upper- 
most in  his  brain. 


IN  GORDON   SQUARE  185 


CHAPTER  VII 

IN   GORDON    SQUARE 

IT  was  James  Hancock's  rule  that  a  dinner 
should  be  served  every  night  at  Gordon 
Square,  to  which  he  could  invite  any  one, 
even  a  city  alderman. 

On  this  especial  day  a  dinner,  even  better 
than  usual,  was  in  prospect.  Miss  Hancock 
had  a  large  circle  of  acquaintances  of  her 
own ;  she  belonged  to  several  anti-societies. 
As  before  hinted,  she  was  not  destitute  of  a 
certain  kindness  of  heart,  and  the  counterfoils 
of  her  cheque  book  disclosed  not  inconsiderable 
sums  subscribed  to  the  Society  for  the  Total 
Abolition  of  Vivisection  and  Kindred  Bodies. 

To-day  she  expected  to  dinner  a  person, 
a  gentleman  of  the  female  persuasion — that 
is  to  say,  a  sort  of  man.  Mr  Bulders,  the 
person  in  question,  a  member  of  the  Anti- 
Tobacco  League,  was  a  crank  of  the  crankiest 
description.  He  wrote  letters  to  the  paper 
on  every  conceivable  subject,  and  in  this 
way  had  obtained  a  dim  and  unholy  sort  of 


186  FANNY   LAMBERT 

notoriety.  Fox  hunting  was  his  especial 
detestation,  and  his  grand  hobby  was  crema- 
tion. "Why  Fear  the  Flames?"  by  Emanuel 
Bulders,  a  pamphlet  of  fifteen  pages,  privately 
printed,  reposed  in  Miss  Hancock's  private 
bookcase.  But  Mr  Bulders  has  no  place  in 
this  story ;  he  is  dead  and— cremated,  let  us 
hope.  I  shadow  him  forth  as  the  reason 
why  Miss  Hancock  was  sitting  this  evening 
by  the  drawing-room  fireplace,  dressed  in 
the  dress  she  assumed  when  she  expected 
visitors,  and  engaged  in  crochet-work. 

The  clock  pointed  to  half-past  six,  Bulders 
was  due — over-due,  like  the  Spanish  galleon 
that  was  destined  never  to  come  into  port. 
She  had  said  in  her  note,  "  Come  early,  I  wish 

to  talk  over  the  last  report  of  the Society, 

and  my  brother  has  little  sympathy  with 
such  subjects." 

Suddenly  her  trained  ear  distinguished  the 
sound  of  her  brother's  latchkey  in  the  door 
below.  Some  women  are  strangely  like  dogs 
in  so  far  as  regards  the  senses  of  hearing  and 
smell. 

Patience  Hancock,  as  she  sat  by  the  drawing- 
room  fireplace,  could  tell  that  her  brother  had 
not  entered  the  house  alone.  She  made  put 


IN   GORDON   SQUARE  187 

his  voice,  and  then  the  voice  of  Bridgewater. 
She  supposed  that  James  had  brought  his 
clerk  home  to  dinner  to  talk  business  matters 
over,  as  he  sometimes  did  ;  and  she  was  re- 
lapsing from  the  attitude  of  strained  attention 
when  a  sound  struck  her,  hit  her,  and  caused 
her  to  drop  her  crochet  -  work  and  rise  to 
her  feet. 

She  heard  the  laughter  of  a  girl. 

Almost  instantly  upon  the  laughter  the 
door  opened,  and  it  seemed  to  Miss  Hancock 
that  a  dozen  people  entered  the  room. 

"  This  is  my  sister  Patience — Patience,  Miss 
Lambert.  We've  all  come  back  to  dinner. 
Sit  down,  Bridgewater.  By  the  way,  Patience, 
there's  a  letter  for  you ;  I  took  it  from  the 
postman  at  the  hall  door."  He  handed  the 
letter ;  it  was  from  Mr  Bulders,  excusing  him- 
self for  not  coming  to  dine,  and  alleging  for 
reason  a  sore  throat. 

Patience  extended  a  frigid  hand  to  Miss 
Lambert,  who  just  touched  it ;  all  the  girl's 
light  -  heartedness  and  vivacity  had  vanished 
for  the  moment,  Patience  Hancock  acted  upon 
her  like  a  draught  of  cold  air. 

"  I  think  you  have  heard  me  mention  Miss 
Lambert's  name,  Patience.  We  have  been  to 


188  FANNY  LAMBERT 

the  Zoo,  the  whole  three  of  us.  Immensely 
amusing  place  the  Zoo — makes  one  feel  quite 
a  boy  again.  Hey,  Bridge  water!" 

"  I  hope  you  enjoyed  it,"  said  Miss  Hancock 
in  a  perfunctory  tone,  glancing  at  Fanny,  who 
was  seated  in  a  huge  rocking-chair,  the  only 
really  comfortable  chair  in  the  room,  and  then 
at  Bridgewater,  who  had  taken  his  seat  on 
the  ottoman. 

"  Pretty  well,  thanks,"  said  Fanny,  speaking 
in  a  languid  tone.  She  had  assumed  very 
much  the  air  of  a  fine  lady  all  of  a  sudden  : 
she  was  not  going  to  be  patronised  by  a 
solicitor's  daughter,  and  she  had  divined  in 
Patience  Hancock  an  enemy.  "The  Zoo  is 
very  much  like  the  world:  there  is  much  to 
laugh  at  and  much  to  endure.  Taken  as  a 
whole,  it  is  not  an  unmixed  blessing." 

James  Hancock  opened  his  mouth  at  these 
sage  utterances,  and  then  shut  it  again  and 
turned  away  to  smile.  Bridgewater  had  the 
bad  manners  to  scratch  his  head.  Miss  Han- 
cock said,  "Indeed?" 

"  Don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

*'  I  think  the  world  is  exactly  what  we  choose 
to  make  it,"  said  Patience  Hancock,  quoting 
Bulders. 


IN   GORDON   SQUARE  189 

"You  think  that?"  said  Fanny,  suddenly 
forgetting  her  fine  lady  languors.  "  Well,  I 
wish  some  one  would  show  me  how  to  make 
the  world  just  as  I'd  choose  to  make  it.  Oh,  it 
would  be  such  a  world — no  poor  people,  and 
no  rain,  and  no  misery,  and  no  debts." 

"  You  mean  no  debtors,"  said  Patience,  seizing 
her  opportunity.  "It  is  the  debtors  that  make 
debts,  just  as  it  is  the  drunken  people  who 
make  drunkenness." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  it  is,"  said  Fanny,  suddenly 
abandoning  her  argumentative  tone  for  one 
of  reverie.  "It's  the  people  in  the  world  that 
make  it  so  horrid  and  so  nice." 

"  That's  exactly  it,"  said  Hancock,  who  was 
standing  on  the  hearthrug  listening  to  these 
banalities  of  thought,  and  contemplating  Bridge- 
water.  "Miss  Lambert  is  a  true  philosopher. 
It  is  the  people  who  make  the  world  what 
it  is ;  could  we  banish  the  meddlers  and  spies 
and  traitors" — he  looked  fixedly  at  his  sister — 
"the  world  would  not  be  an  unpleasant  place 
to  live  in." 

"  I  hate  spies,"  said  Fanny,  totally  unconscious 
of  the  delicate  ground  she  was  stepping  upon — 
"people  who  poke  about  into  other  people's 
business,  and  open  letters,  and  that  sort  of 


190  FANNY   LAMBERT 

thing."  Miss  Hancock  flushed  scarlet,  and  her 
brother  noted  the  fact.  "  James  opens  letters, 
I  caught  him." 

"  Who  is  James  ? "  asked  Miss  Hancock. 

"  He's  our  butler,"  said  Fanny,  looking 
imploringly  at  Mr  Hancock  as  if  to  say 
"  Don't  tell." 

Miss  Hancock  rose.  "  May  I  show  you  to 
my  room  ?  you  would  like  to  remove  your 
hat." 

The  dinner  was  not  a  success,  intellectually 
speaking.  James  Hancock's  temper  half  broke 
down  over  the  soles,  the  sauce  was  not  to  his 
liking  ;  the  sweet  cakes,  ices,  and  other  horrors 
he  had  consumed  during  the  day  had  induced 
a  mild  attack  of  dyspepsia.  His  nose  was  red, 
and  he  knew  it ;  and,  worst  of  all,  faint  twinges 
of  gout  made  themselves  felt.  His  right  great 
toe  was  saying  to  him,  "  Wait  till  you  see 
what  you'll  have  to-morrow."  Then  Boffins, 
the  old  butler,  tripped  on  the  cat,  broke  a 
dish,  and  James  Hancock's  temper  flew  out. 

I  have  described  James  Hancock  badly,  if 
you  have  not  perceived  that  he  was  a  man 
with  a  temper.  The  evil  demons  in  the 
Merangues  and  ices,  the  irritation  caused  by 
Bridgewater's  confession,  the  provoking  calm- 


IN   GORDON   SQUARE  191 

ness  of  his  sister,  the  uric  acid  in  his  blood, 
and  the  smash  of  the  broken  dish,  all  combined 
of  a  sudden  and  were  too  much  for  him. 

'Damn  that  cat  "  he  cried.  "Cats,  cats, 
cats !  How  often  have  I  told  you  " — to  his  sister 
— "that  I  will  not  have  my  house  filled  with 
those  sneaking,  prowling  beasts  ?  Chase  her 
out ;  where  is  she  ? " 

Boffins  looked  under  the  table  and  said 
"Scat,"  but  nothing  "scatted." 

"She's  gone,  Mr  James." 

"  I  won't  have  cats  in  my  house,"  said 
Mr  James,  proceeding  with  his  dinner  and 
feeling  rather  ashamed  of  his  outburst.  "  Dear 
Lord,  Patience,  what  do  you  call  this  thing  ?  " 

"The  cook,"  said  Patience,  "calls  it,  I 
believe,  a  vol-au-vent.  What  is  wrong  with 
it?" 

"What  is  right  with  it,  you  mean.  Don't 
touch  it,  Miss  Lambert,  unless  you  wish  to 
have  a  nightmare." 

"  I  think  it's  delicious,"  said  Fanny,  "and 
I  don't  mind  nightmares.  They're  rather  fun 
— when  they  are  over,  and  you  wake  up  and 
find  yourself  safe  in  bed." 

"Well,  you'll  have  some  fun  to-night," 
grunted  James.  "  The  person  who  cooked 


192  FANNY  LAMBERT 

this   atrocity    ought    to    be    made   sleep    with 
the  person  who  eats  it." 

"James,  you  need  not  be  vulgar"  said 
hie  sister. 

"What's  vulgar?" 

"Your  remark." 

"  Boffins,  fill  Miss  Lambert's  glass — let's 
change  the  subject.  This-  champagne  is 
abominably  iced — give  me  some  Burgundy." 

"James! " 

"Well?" 

"Burgundy!" 

"  Well,  what  about  Burgundy  ?  " 

"  Surely  you  remember  the  gout — the  fright- 
ful attack  you  had  last  time  after  Burgundy." 

"  Gout  ?  I  suppose  you  mean  Arthritic 
Rheumatism  ?  But  perhaps  you  are  right,  and 
Dr  Garrod  was  wrong — let  us  call  it  gout. 
Fill  up  the  glass,  Boffins.  Bridgewater,  try 
some  Burgundy,  and  see  if  it  affects  your 
gout.  Boffins,  that  cat's  in  the  room,  I  hear 
it  purring.  I  hear  it,  I  tell  you,  sir!  where 
is  the  beast?" 

The  beast,  as  if  in  answer,  poked  its  head 
from  under  the  table-cloth — it  was  in  Miss 
Lambert's  lap. 

Altogether  the  dinner  was  not  a  success. 


193 

"Your  father  has  known  my  brother  some 
time?"  said  Miss  Hancock,  when  the  ladies 
found  themselves  alone  in  the  drawing-room 
after  dinner. 

"Oh  yes,  some  time  now,"  said  Fanny. 
"They  met  over  some  law  business.  Father 
had  a  dispute  with  Mr  Bevan  of  Highshot 
Towers,  the  place  adjoining  ours,  you  know, 
down  in  Buckinghamshire,  and  Mr  Hancock 
was  very  kind — he  arbitrated." 

"  Indeed  ?  that  is  funny,  for  he  is  Mr  Bevan's 
solicitor." 

"Is  that  so?  I'm  sure  I  don't  know,  I 
never  trouble  myself  about  law  business  or 
money  matters.  I  leave  all  that  to  father." 

They  talked  on  various  matters,  and  before 
Miss  Lambert  had  been  packed  into  a  specially 
chartered  four-wheeler  and  driven  home  with 
Bridgewater  on  the  box  beside  the  driver  as 
chaperone,  Miss  Hancock  had  come  to  form 
ideas  about  Miss  Lambert  such  as  she  had 
never  formed  about  any  other  young  lady. 
Ideas  the  tenor  of  which  you  will  perceive 
later  on. 


N 


PART 
CHAPTER  I 

"THE  ROOST* 

MR  BEVAN,  since  his  visit  to  Highgate,  dreamed 
often  at  nights  of  monstrous  asparagus  beds, 
and  his  friends  and  acquaintances  noticed  that 
he  seemed  distrait. 

The  fact  was  the  mind  of  this  orderly  and 
precise  individual  had  received  a  shock ;  his 
world  of  thought  had  tilted  somewhat,  owing 
to  a  slight  shifting  of  the  poles,  and  regions 
hitherto  in  darkness  were  touched  with  sun. 

Go  where  he  would  a  voice  pursued  him, 
turn  where  he  would,  a  face.  Wild  impulses  to 
jump  into  a  cab  and  drive  to  "  The  Laurels," 
Highgate,  as  swiftly  as  cab  could  take  him 
were  subdued  and  conquered.  Perhaps  it 
would  be  happier  for  some  of  us  if  we  used 
less  reason  in  steering  our  way  through  life. 
Impulsive  people  are  often  sneered  at,  yet, 

IN 


"THE   ROOST"  195 

I  dare  say  that  an  impulse  acted  upon  will  as 
often  make  a  man's  life  as  mar  it. 

Mr  Bevan  was  not  an  impulsive  man.  It 
was  not  for  some  days  after  his  visit  to  "  The 
Laurels  "  that  he  carried  out  his  determination 
to  stop  the  action  once  for  all.  He  did  not 
return  to  "  The  Laurels."  He  was  engaged  and 
a  man  of  honour,  and  as  such  he  determined 
to  fly  from  temptation.  Accordingly  one  bright 
morning  he  despatched  a  wire  intimating  his 
arrival  by  the  3.50  at  Ditchingham,  having 
sent  which  he  flung  himself  into  a  hansom  and 
drove  to  Charing  Cross,  followed  by  another 
hansom  containing  Strutt,  two  portmanteaux,  a 
hunting  kit-bag  and  a  bundle  of  fishing-rods. 
An  extraordinary  accident  happened  to  the  train 
he  travelled  by ;  it  arrived  at  Paddock  Wood 
only  three  minutes  late,  making  up  for  this 
deficiency,  however,  by  crawling  into  Ditching- 
ham  at  4.10 

On  the  Ditchingham  platform  stood  two 
girls.  One  tall,  pale,  and  decidedly  good- 
looking  despite  the  pince-nez  she  wore ;  the 
other  short  and  rather  stout,  and  rather  pretty. 

The  tall  girl  was  Miss  Pursehouse ;  the 
short  was  Lulu  Morgan,  Miss  Pursehouse's 
companion,  an  American. 


196  FANNY   LAMBERT 

Pamela  Pursehouse  at  this  stage  of  her 
career  was  verging  on,  thirty,  the  only  daughter 
of  the  late  John  Pursehouse  of  Birmingham, 
and  an  orphan.  She  was  exceedingly  rich. 

Some  months  ago  she  had  met  Bevan  on 
board  Sir  Charles  Napier's  yacht ;  they  had 
spent  a  fortnight  cruising  about  the  Balearic 
Islands  and  the  Riff  coast  of  Morocco,  had 
been  sea-sick  together,  and  bored  together, 
and  finally  had,  one  moonlight  night,  become 
engaged.  It  was  a  cold-blooded  affair  despite 
the  moonlight,  and  they  harboured  no  illusions 
one  of  the  other,  and  no  doubts. 

Pamela  had  a  mind  of  her  own.  She  had 
attended  classes  at  Mason's  College  and  had 
quite  a  knowledge  of  Natural  History  ;  she  also 
had  an  interest  in  the  ways  of  the  working 
classes,  and  had  written  a  paper  to  prove  that, 
with  economy,  a  man,  his  wife  and  five  children, 
could  live  on  an  income  of  eleven  shillings  a 
week,  and  put  by  sixpence  for  a  rainy  day ;  to 
disprove  which  she  was  eternally  helping  the 
cottagers  round  about  with  doles  of  tea  on  a 
liberal  scale,  coal  in  the  winter,  and  wine  in 
sickness.  When  the  rainy  day  came  she 
supplied  the  sixpence,  which  ought  to  have 
been  in  the  savings  bank,  for  she  was  a  girl 


"THE   ROOST"  197 

who   found    her    heart    when   she    forgot    her 
head. 

At  Marseilles  Lady  Napier,  Pamela,  Lulu, 
and  Charles  Bevan  had  left  the  yacht  and 
travelled  together  to  Paris  ;  there,  after  a  couple 
of  days,  he  had  departed  for  London  to  look 
after  his  affairs.  Pamela  had  remained  in 
Paris,  where,  through  Lady  Napier,  she  had  the 
entree  of  the  best  society,  and  had  met  many 
people,  including  the  Lamberts.  She  had  in- 
deed only  returned  to  England  a  short  time  ago. 

Outside  the  station  stood  a  governess  cart 
and  the  omnibus  of  the  hotel.  Into  the 
governess  cart  bundled  the  lovers  and  Lulu, 
into  the  omnibus  Strutt  and  the  luggage. 
Pamela  took  the  reins  and  the  hog-maned 
pony  started. 

"  Hot,  isn't  it  ? "  said  Charles,  tilting  his 
hat  over  his  eyes,  and  envying  Strutt  in  the 
cool  shelter  of  the  omnibus. 

"Think  so?"  said  Pamela.  "  It's  July,  you 
know.  Why  do  men  dress  always  in  summer  in 
such  heavy  clothes  ?  Seems  to  me  women  are 
much  more  sensible  in  the  matter  of  dress. 
Now  if  you  were  dressed  as  I  am,  instead  of  in 
that  Harris  tweed,  you  wouldn't  feel  the  heat 
at  all." 


198  FANNY   LAMBERT 

Charles  tried  to  imagine  himself  in  a  chip 
hat  and  lilac  cotton  gown,  and  failed. 

"You  must  have  been  fried  in  that  train," 
said  Lulu,  staring  at  him  with  a  pair  of 
large  blue  eyes,  eyes  that  never  seemed  to 
shut. 

"  Pretty  nearly,"  answered  Charles,  and  the 
conversation  languished. 

Rookhurst  stands  on  a  hill ;  it  is  a  village 
composed  of  gentlemen's  houses.  Country 
"  seats  "  radiate  from  it  to  a  distance  of  some 
three  miles.  Three  acres  and  a  house 
constitute  a  "seat." 

The  conservatism  of  the  old  Japanese 
aristocracy  pales  when  considered  beside 
the  conservatism  of  Rookhurst.  In  this 
microcosm  there  are  as  many  circles  as  in 
the  Inferno  of  Dante,  and  the  circles  are 
nearly  as  painful  to  contemplate. 

When  Pamela  Pursehouse  rented  "  The 
Roost"  and  took  up  residence  there  she  came 
unknown  and  untrumpeted.  The  parson  and 
several  curious  old  ladies  called  upon  her,  but 
the  seat-holders  held  aloof,  she  was  not 
received.  Mrs  D'Arcy-Jones  —  Rookhurst 
is  full  of  people  with  double-barrelled  names, 
those  double-barrelled  names  in  which  the 


"THE  ROOST'  199 

second  barrel  is  of  inferior  metal  —  Mrs 
D'Arcy-Jones  discovered  that  Pamela's  father 
was  of  Birmingham.  Mrs  D'Arcy-Johnson 
found  out  that  he  was  in  trade,  and  Mrs 
D'Arcy  Somebody-else  that  her  mother's 
maiden  name  was  Jenkins.  There  was 
much  turning  up  of  noses  when  poor  Pamela's 
name  was  mentioned,  till  one  fine  day  when 
all  the  turned-up  noses  were  suddenly  turned 
down  by  the  arrival  at  "  The  Roost "  of  the 
Duchess  of  Aviedale,  her  footman,  her  maid, 
her  dog,  and  her  companion.  Then  there 
was  a  rush.  People  flung  decency  to  the 
winds  in  their  haste  to  know  the  tradesman's 
daughter  and  incidentally  get  a  lick  at  the 
Duchess's  boots.  But  to  all  callers  Pamela 
was  not  at  home ;  she  had  even  the  rudeness 
not  to  return  their  visits. 

The  snobs,  beaten  back,  retired,  feeling 
very  much  like  damaged  goods,  and  Pamela 
was  left  in  peace.  Her  aunt,  Miss  Jenkins, 
a  sweet-faced  and  perfectly  inane  old  lady, 
lived  with  her  and  kept  house,  and  Pamela, 
protected  by  her  wing,  had  all  sorts  of 
extraordinary  people  to  visit  her.  Sandyman, 
M.P.,  the  Labour  representative,  came  down 
for  a  week-end  once,  and  smoked  shag  tobacco 


200  FANNY   LAMBERT 

in  the  dining-room  and  wandered  about  the 
village  on  Sunday  in  a  Keir- Hardy  cap ;  he 
also  attended  the  tin  chapel,  had  a  quart  of 
beer  at  the  village  pub,  and  did  other  dis- 
graceful things  which  were  all  duly  reported 
and  set  down  to  Pamela's  account  in  the 
D'Arcy-Jones-Johnson  notebook. 

Pamela  liked  men,  that  is  to  say,  men  who 
were  original  and  interesting ;  yet  she  had 
engaged  herself  to  the  most  unoriginal  man 
in  England :  a  fact  for  which  there  is  no 
accounting,  save  on  the  hypothesis  that  she 
was  a  woman. 

The  governess  cart  having  climbed  a  long, 
long  hill,  the  hog-maned  pony  took  to  himself 
wings,  and  presently,  in  a  cloud  of  dust,  halted. 

"  The  Roost,"  though  a  fairly  large  house, 
did  not  boast  a  carriage-drive.  A  gate  in 
a  high  hedge  led  to  a  path  through  a  rose- 
garden  which  was  worth  all  the  carriage-drives 
in  existence. 

"We  have  several  people  staying  with  us, 
did  I  tell  you?"  said  Pamela  as  she  led  the 
way.  "Hamilton-Cox,  the  man  who  wrote  the 
'  Pillar  of  Salt,'  and  Wilson — Professor  Wilson 
of  Oxford,  and — but  come  on,  and  I'll  introduce 
you." 


"THE    ROOST"  201 

They  entered  a  pleasant  hall.  The  perfume  of 
cigars  and  the  sound  of  a  man's  laughter  came 
from  a  half-open  door  on  the  right.  Pamela 
made  for  it,  and  as  Charles  Bevan  followed 
he  heard  a  rich  Irish  voice.  "  My  friend 
Stacey,  of  Castle  Stacey,  raised  one  four  foot 
broad  across  the  face ;  such  a  sunflower  was 
never  seen  by  mortal  man,  I  measured  it  with 
my  own  hands — four  foot " 

Bevan  suddenly  found  himself  before  a  man, 
an  immense,  good-looking,  priestly-faced  man, 
in  his  shirt-sleeves,  a  cigar  in  his  mouth,  and 
a  billiard  cue  in  his  hand. 

"  Mr  Charles  Bevan,  Mr  Lambert ;  Mr 
Bevan,  Professor  Wilson  ;  Mr  " 

"Why,  sure  to  goodness  it's  not  my  cousin, 
Charles  Bevan  of  the  '  Albany  ' !  "  cried  the  big 
man,  effusively  clasping  the  hand  of  Charles 
and  gazing  at  him  with  the  astonished  and 
joyous  expression  of  a  man  who  meets  a  dear 
and  long-lost  brother. 

Mr  Bevan  intimated  that  he  was  that 
person. 

"  But,  sure  to  goodness,"  said  the  big  man, 
dropping  Charles'  hand  and  scratching  his 
head  with  a  puzzled  air,  then  he  turned  on 
his  heel :  "  Where's  my  coat  ?  "  He  found  his 


202  FANNY   LAMBERT 

coat  and  took  from  it  a  pocket-book,  from 
the  pocket-book  a  telegram  and  a  sheet  of 
paper,  whilst  Pamela  turned  to  Professor 
Wilson  and  the  novelist. 

"  I  got  that  from  your  lawyer,  Mr  Bevan," 
said  he,  "some  days  ago"  Charles  read: 

"  Bevan  has  stopped  action.  Isn't  it  sweet 
of  him  ? — HANCOCK." 

"  Yes,"  said  Charles  rather  stiffly,  "  I  stopped 
the  action,  but  Hancock  seems  to  have — been 
drinking." 

"  And  there's  the  reply  I  was  going  to  send, 
only  I  forgot  it,"  said  George  Lambert,  handing 
the  copy  of  a  telegram  to  Charles. 

"  Tell  Bevan  I  relinquish  all  fishing  rights. 
Wish  to  be  friends. — GEORGE  LAMBERT." 

"It  is  very  generous  of  you,"  said  Charles, 
really  touched.  "  But  I  can't  have  it,  we'll 
divide  the  rights." 

"  Come  into  the  garden,  my  boy,"  said 
George,  who  had  now  resumed  his  coat,  linking 
his  arm  in  that  of  Charles  and  leading  him  out 
through  the  open  French  window,  into  the 
rose-scented  garden,  "  and  let's  talk  things 
over.  It's  the  pity  of  the  world  we  weren't 
always  friends.  Damn  the  fish  stream  and  all 
the  fish  in  it  I  I  wish  they'd  been  boiled  before 


"THE   ROOST"  203 

they  were  spawned.  What's  the  good  of  fight- 
ing ?  Isn't  life  too  short  for  fighting  and 
divisions  ?  Sure,  there's  a  rose  as  big  as  a 
red  cabbage,  but  you  should  see  the  roses  at 
my  house  in  Highgate  —  and  where  did  you 
meet  Miss  Pursehouse?" 

"Oh,"  said  Charles.  "I've  known  her  for 
some  time." 

"  We  met  her  in  Paris,  Fanny — that's  my 
daughter — and  me  met  her  in  Paris.  Fanny 
dosen't  care  for  her  much,  and  wouldn't  come 
with  me ;  but  there's  never  a  woman  in  the 
world  that  really  cares  for  another  woman, 
unless  the  other  woman  is  as  ugly  as  sin  and 
a  hundred.  There's  a  melon  house  for  you, 
but  you  should  see  my  melon  houses  in 
Highgate,  the  one's  I  am  going  to  have  built 
by  Arthur  Lawrence  of  Cockspur  Street ;  he's 
made  a  speciality  of  glass,  but  he  charges 
cruel.  It's  the  passion  of  my  life,  a 
garden." 

He  leaned  over  the  gate  leading  to  the 
kitchen  -  garden,  and  whistled  an  old  Irish 
hunting  song  softly  to  himself  as  he  con- 
templated the  cabbages  and  peas.  Charles 
lit  a  cigar.  He  was  a  fine  figure  of  a  man, 
this  Lambert ;  one  of  those  large  natures  in 


204  FANNY   LAMBERT 

a  large  frame  that  dwarf  other  individualities 
when  brought  in  contact  with  them.  Hamilton 
Cox  would  pass  in  a  crowd,  and  Professor 
Wilson  was  not  unimpressive,  but  beside 
George  Lambert,  Hamilton  -  Cox  looked  a 
shrimp,  and  the  Oxford  professor  somewhat 
shrivelled. 

"  It's  the  passion  of  my  life,"  reiterated 
Fanny  Lambert's  father,  addressing  the 
cabbages,  the  marrow  fat  peas,  Charles 
Bevan,  and  the  distant  woods  of  Sussex. 
"And  if  I'd  stuck  to  it  and  left  horses  alone, 
a  richer  man  I'd  have  been  this  day." 

"  I  say,"  said  Charles,  who  had  been  plunged 
in  meditation,  "  why  did  Hancock  telegraph 
to  you,  I  wonder?  It  wasn't  exactly  solicitors' 
etiquette ;  the  proper  course,  I  think,  would 
have  been  to  communicate  with  your  lawyers, 
Messrs  Sykes  and  Fagan." 

George  Lambert  broke  into  a  low,  mellow 
laugh. 

"  Faith,"  he  said,  "  I  suppose  he  did  com- 
municate with  them,  and  they  answered  that 
they  weren't  my  lawyers  any  more.  I've 
fought  with  them,  and  that's  a  fact ;  and 
now  that  we're  friends,  you  and  me,  I've  an 
idea  of  transferring  my  business  to  Hancock. 


"THE   ROOST"  205 

I've  one  or  two  little  suits  pending;  and  I'm 
not  sure  but  one  of  them  won't  be  with 
Fagan  for  the  names  I  called  him  in  his  own 
office  before  his  own  clerks.  '  I'll  have  you 
indicted  for  slander,'  he  says.  '  Slander ! '  said 
I,  'slander,  you  old  clothes-bag,  have  me  up 
for  slander,  and  I'll  beat  the  dust  out  of  your 
miserable  reputation  in  any  court  in  the 
kingdom,  ye  old  wandering  -  Jew  -  come  -  to  - 
roost,'  and  with  that  I  left  the  office,  and 
never  will  I  set  my  foot  in  it  again." 

"  I  should  think  not." 

"  Never  again.  He's  a  red  Jew — always 
beware  of  red  Jews ;  black  Jews  are  bad,  but 
red  Jews  are  the  devil — bad  luck  to  them !  If 
I'd  left  Jews  alone,  a  richer  man  I'd  have 
been  this  day.  Who's  that  ringing  a  bell  ? 
Oh,  it's  the  afternoon  tea-bell :  let's  go  in 
and  talk  to  the  old  professor  and  Miss 
Pursehouse." 

They  did  not  go  in,  for  the  Professor  and 
Miss  Pursehouse,  Lulu  Morgan,  and  the 
author  of  the  "  Pillar  of  Salt "  were  having 
tea  on  the  lawn.  There  were  few  places 
pleasanter  than  the  lawn  of  "  The  Roost," 
especially  on  this  golden  and  peaceful  summer's 
evening,  through  which  the  warm  south  wind 


206  FANNY   LAMBERT 

brought  the  cawing  of  rooks  from  distant 
elm  trees. 

"Have  you  two  finished  your  business?" 
asked  Pamela,  addressing  Charles ;  "  if  so,  sit 
down  and  tell  me  all  the  news.  I  got  your 
note.  So  sorry  you  were  bored  by  old  Mr — 
Blundell — was  it? — at  the  club.  Mr  Blundell 
is  a  rose-bore,  it  seems,"  turning  to  Hamilton 
Cox;  "he  is  mad  on  roses." 

"  Blundell !  what  an  excellent  name  for  a 
bore  !  "  said  the  "  Pillar  of  Salt  "  man  dreamily, 
closing  his  eyes.  "  I  can  see  him,  stout  and 
red-faced  and " 

"Matter  of  fact,  old  Blundell  isn't  stout," 
cut  in  Charles,  to  whom  Hamilton-Cox  did 
not  appeal.  "He's  thin  and  white." 

"All  white?" 

"  No,  his  face,  you  know." 

"Ah!  I  had  connected  him  with  the  idea 
of  red  roses.  Why  is  it  that  in  thinking  of 
roses  one  always  figures  them  red  ? " 

"  Sure,   I   don't  know — I   never  do." 

"I  do." 

"Well,"  put  in  Pamela,  "when  you  escaped 
from  Mr  Blundell  what  did  you  do  with 
yourself  that  day — smoked,  I  suppose,  and 
went  to  Tattersal's  ?  " 


MISS   MORGAN  207 

"  No,   I   was  busy." 

"  What  was  the  business — luncheon  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Charles  Bevan,  feeling  that  he 
was  humorous  in  his  reply,  and  feeling  rather 
a  sneak,  too.  "  Luncheon  was  part  of  the 
business." 

The  remembrance  of  the  fried  whiting  rose 
before  him,  backed  by  a  vision  of  Susannah 
holding  in  one  hand  a  bottle  of  Bellinger, 
and  in  the  other  a  bottle  of  Gold-water. 


CHAPTER   II 

MISS    MORGAN 

IT  is  so  easy  not  to  do  some  things.  Bevan, 
had  he  acted  correctly,  ought  to  have  informed 
Mr  Lambert  of  his  visit  to  Highgate  and  all 
that  therein  lay,  yet  he  did  not.  There  was 
nothing  to  hide,  yet,  as  Sir  Boyle  -  Roche 
might  have  said,  he  hid  it. 

During  tea  several  things  occupied  his 
mind  very  much.  The  vision  of  Fanny 
Lambert  was  constantly  before  him,  so  was 
the  person  of  her  father.  He  could  not  but 
acknowledge  that  Lambert  was  a  most 
attractive  personage — attractive  to  men,  to 


208  FANNY  LAMBERT 

women,  to  children,  to  dogs,  cats — anything 
that  could  see  and  feel,  in  fact.  Everything 
seemed  to  brighten  in  his  presence.  Hamilton- 
Cox's  dictum  that  if  Lambert  could  be  bottled 
he  would  make  the  most  excellent  Burgundy, 
was  not  far  wrong. 

Bevan,  as  he  sipped  his  tea,  watched  the 
genial  Lambert,  and  could  not  but  notice 
that  he  paid  very  marked  attention  to  Pamela, 
and  even  more  marked  attention  to  old  Miss 
Jenkins,  her  aunt. 

This  did  not  altogether  please  him,  neither 
did  the  fact  that  Pamela  seemed  to  enjoy  the 
attentions' of  this  man,  who  was  her  diametrical 
opposite. 

To  the  profound  philosopher  who  indites 
these  lines  it  seems  that  between  men  and 
women  in  the  mass  there  is  very  little 
difference.  They  act  pretty  much  the  same, 
except,  perhaps,  in  the  presence  of  mice. 
Bevan  did  very  much  what  a  woman  would 
have  done  in  his  position :  seeing  his  true 
love  flirting  with  some  one  else,  he  flirted 
with  some  one  else.  Lulu  Morgan  was 
nearest  to  him,  so  he  used  her. 

"  I've  been  in  England  a  twelvemonth," 
answered  Miss  Morgan,  in  reply  to  a  query, 


MISS   MORGAN  209 

"  and  I  feel  beginning  to  get  crusted.  They  say 
the  old  carp  in  the  pond  in  Versailles  get  moss- 
grown  after  they've  been  there  a  hundred  anc 
fifty  years  or  so,  and  I  feel  like  that.  When  I 
say  I've  been  in  England  a  twelvemonth,  I 
mean  Europe.  I've  been  in  England  three 
months,  and  the  rest  abroad.  Pamela  picked 
me  up  in  Paris,  you'd  just  gone  back  home ; 
Lady  Scott  introduced  me  to  her.  I  was 
looking  out  for  a  job.  I  came  over  originally 
with  the  Vandervades,  then  Sadie  Vandervade 
got  married ;  I  was  her  companion,  and  I  lost 
the  job.  Of  course  I  could  have  stayed  on 
with  old  man  Vandervade  and  his  wife,  but  I 
wanted  a  job.  I'm  like  a  squirrel,  put  me  in  a 
cage  with  nothing  to  do,  and  I'd  die.  I  must 
have  a  mill  to  turn,  so  I  froze  on  to  Pamela's 
offer.  I  write  her  letters,  and  do  her  accounts, 
and  interview  her  tradespeople.  I  guess  she's 
getting  fat  for  want  of  work  since  I've  been 
her  companion.  Yes,  I  like  England,  and  I 
like  this  place ;  if  the  people  could  be  scraped 
out  of  it  clean,  it  would  be  considerably  nicer. 
I  went  to  church  last  Sunday  to  have  a 
good  long  considerate  look  at  them ;  they  all 
arrived  in  carriages — every  one  here  who  has 
a  shay  of  any  description  turns  k  out  to 


210  FANNY  LAMBERT 

go  to  church  in  on  Sunday.  Well,  I  went 
to  have  a  good  long  look  at  them,  and  such  a 
collection  of  stuffed  images  and  plug-uglies 
I  never  beheld.  I'm  vicious  about  them 
p'rhaps,  for  they  treated  Pamela  so  mean, 
holding  off  from  her  when  she  first  came,  and 
then  rushing  down  her  throat  when  they  found 
she  knew  a  duchess.  They'd  boil  themselves 
for  a  duchess.  Say — you  know  the  Lamberts  ? 
Isn't  Fanny  sweet?" 

Mr  Bevan  started  in  his  chair,  but  Miss 
Morgan  did  not  notice,  engrossed  as  she  was 
with  her  own  conversation. 

"We  met  them  in  Paris;  and  I  don't  know 
which  is  sweeter,  Fanny  or  her  father.  She 
was  to  have  come  down  here  with  him,  but  she 
didn't.  My,  but  she  is  pretty.  And  don't  the 
men  run  after  her!  there  were  three  men  in 
Paris  raving  about  her  ;  she'd  only  known  them 
two  days,  and  they  were  near  proposing  to  her. 
Don't  wonder  at  it,  I'd  propose  to  her  myself, 
if  I  was  a  man.  But  she's  a  little  flirt  all  the 
same,  and  I  told  her  so." 

"Excuse  me,"  said  Bevan,  "but  I  scarcely 
think  you  are  justified — that  is — from  what  I 
have  heard  of  Miss  Lambert,  I  would  scarcely 
suspect  her  of  being  a — flirt." 


MISS   MORGAN  211 

"  Wouldn't  you  ?  Men  never  suspect  a 
woman  of  being  a  flirt  till  they're  flirted  with 
and  done  for.  Fanny's  the  worst  description  of 
flirt — oh,  I've  told  her  so  to  her  face — for  she 
doesn't  mean  it ;  she  just  leads  men  on  with  her 
sweetness,  and  doesn't  see  they're  breaking 
their  hearts  for  her.  She's  a  regular  trap  bated 
with  sugar.  How  did  you  escape,  Mr  Bevan  ? 
You're  the  only  man,  I  guess,  who  ever  did." 

"I  haven't  the  pleasure  —  er  —  of  Miss 
Lambert's  acquaintance,"  said  Charles,  rather 
stiffly. 

"Well,  you're  safe,  for  you  are  engaged;  only 
for  that  I'd  say  '  Don't  have  the  pleasure  of 
her  acquaintance.'  What  I  like  about  her  is  that 
she  makes  all  the  other  women  so  furious ;  she 
sucks  the  men  away  from  them  like  a  whirl- 
pool. It's  a  pity  she's  so  rich,  for  it's  simply 
gilt  thrown  away " 

"  Is  Miss — Miss  Lambert  rich  ?  " 

"Why,  certainly;  at  least  I  conclude 
so." 

"  Did  she  tell  you  so  ?  " 

"No — but  she  gives  one  the  impression  ;  they 
have  country  houses  like  mushrooms  all  over 
the  place,  and  she  dresses  simply  just  as  she 
pleases ;  only  really  rich  people  can  afford  to 


212  FANNY   LAMBERT 

do  that.  She  went  to  the  opera  in  Paris  with 
us  in  an  old  horror  of  a  gown  that  made  her 
look  quite  charming.  No  one  notices  what 
she  has  on ;  and  if  she  went  to  heaven  in  a 
coffee-coat  they'd  let  her  in,  for  she'd  still  be 
Fanny  Lambert." 

"  You  saw  a  good  deal  of  her  in  Paris  ?  " 

"  Yes,  we  went  about  a  good  deal." 

"Tell  me,"  said  Mr  Bevan  very  gravely, 
"  you  said  she  was  a  flirt — did  you  really 
mean  that  ?  " 

"Why,  how  interested  you  are!  She  is,  but 
not  a  bad  sort  of  flirt.  She's  one  of  those 
people  all  heart — she  loves  everything  and 
everybody — up  to  a  certain  point." 

"  Do  you  think  she  is  in  love  with  any  man 
— beyond  a  certain  point  ?  " 

"  Can't  say,"  said  Miss  Morgan,  shaking  her 
head  sagely ;  "  but  when  she  does,  she'll  go  the 
whole  hog.  The  man  she'll  love  she'll  love  for 
ever  and  ever,  and  die  on  his  grave,  and  that 
sort  of  thing,  you  know." 

"  I  believe  you  are  right." 

"  Why,  how  do  you  know  ?  You've  never 
met  her." 

"  I  was  referring  to  your  description  of  her. 
Girls  of  her  impulsive  nature — er — generally 


MISS   MORGAN  213 

do — I  mean  they  are  generally  warm-hearted 
and  that  sort  of  thing." 

"  There's  one  man  I  think  she  has  a  fancy 
for,"  said  Miss  Morgan,  staring  into  space 
with  her  wide-open  blue  eyes,  "  but  he's  poor 
as  a  rat — an  awfully  nice  fellow,  a  painter ; 
Mr  Lambert  fished  him  up  somewhere  in  a 
cafe.  He  and  Fanny  and  I  and  a  friend  of 
his  went  and  had  dinner  at  a  little  cafe  near 
the  Boul'  Miche.  Then  we  got  lost — that  is 
to  say,  I  and  Heidenheimer  lost  sight  of 
Fanny  and  her  friend ;  and  Fanny  told  me 
afterwards  she'd  had  no  end  of  a  good  time 
finding  her  way  home  ;  so'd  I.  'Twas  awfully 
improper,  of  course,  but  no  one  knew,  and  it 
was  in  Paris." 

"  I  may  be  old-fashioned,  of  course,"  said 
Mr  Bevan  stiffly,  "but  1  think  people  can't 
be  too  careful,  you  know — um — how  long 
was  Miss  Lambert  lost  with  Mr " 

"  Leavesley  —  that's  his  name.  Oh!  she 
didn't  turn  up  at  the  hotel  till  after  eight." 

"Did  Mr  Lambert  know?" 

"  Oh  yes,  but  he  wasn't  uneasy ;  he  said 
she  was  like  a  bad  penny,  sure  to  turn  up 
all  right." 

"Good  God!" 


214  FANNY  LAMBERT 

"  What  on  earth ! — why,  there  was  no 
harm.  Leavesley  is  the  best  of  good  fellows, 
he  looked  after  her  like  a  grandmother ;  he 
worships  the  very  ground  she  walks  on,  and 
I'd  pity  the  man  who  would  as  much  as  look 
twice  at  Fanny  if  he  was  with  her." 

"  Um — Mr  Leavesley,  as  you  call  him " 

"  I  don't  call  him,  he  calls  himself." 

"  Well,  Mr  Leavesley  may  be  all  right  in 
his  way,  but  I  should  not  care  to  see  a 
sister  of  mine  worshipped  by  one  of  these 
sort  of  people.  Organ-grinders  and  out-of- 
elbow  artists  may  be  delightful  company 
amidst  their  own  set,  but  I  confess  I  am 
not  accustomed  to  them— 

"  That's  just  your  insular  prejudice — seems 
to  me  I've  heard  that  expression  before,  but 
it  will  do — Leavesley  isn't  an  organ-grinder. 
I  can't  stand  loafers  myself,  and  if  a  man 
can't  keep  up  with  the  procession,  he'd  better 
hang  himself;  but  Leavesley  isn't  a  loafer, 
and  he'll  be  at  the  top  of  the  procession  yet, 
leading  the  elephant.  Oh,  he  paints  divinely !  " 

"Miss  Lambert,  you  say,  is  in  love  with 
him?" 

"  I  didn't — I  fancy  she  had  a  weakness ; 
but  maybe  it's  only  a  fancy." 


MISS   MORGAN  215 

"  Does  he  write  to  her  ?  " 

"  Don't  know — very  likely ;  these  artistic 
people  can  do  things  other  people  can't.  We 
all  went  to  see  the  Lamberts  off  at  the 
Nord,  and  had  champagne  at  the  buffet ; 
and  poor  old  Fragonard — he  was  another 
worshipper,  an  artist  you  know — turned  up 
with  a  huge  big  bouquet  of  violets  for  Fanny ; 
we  asked  him  where  he'd  got  them,  and  he 
said  he'd  stolen  them.  They  don't  care  a  fig 
for  poverty,  artists ;  make  a  joke  of  it  you 
know.  Yes,  I  daresay  he  writes  to  Fanny. 
Heidenheimer  writes  to  me  every  week — says 
he's  dying  in  love  with  me,  and  sends  poems, 
screechingly  funny  poems,  all  about  nightin- 
gales and  arrows  and  hearts.  He's  an  artist 
too,  and  I'd  marry  him,  I  believe  I  would, 
only  we're  both  as  poor  as  Lazarus." 

"Mr  Leavesley  is  an  artist  you  say?" 

"  Yes,  but  he's  a  genius,  but  genius  doesn't 
pay — that's  to  say  at  first — afterwards — after- 
wards it's  different.  Trading  rats  for  diamonds 
in  famine  time  isn't  in  it  with  a  genius  when 
he  gets  on  the  make." 

Mr  Bevan  gazed  reflectively  at  the  tips 
of  his  shoes.  He  quite  recognised  that  these 
long  -  haired  and  out  -  at  -  elbowed  anomalies 


216  FANNY  LAMBERT 

y'clept  geniuses  had  the  trick,  at  times,  of 
making  money.  A  dim  sort  of  wrath  against 
the  whole  species  possessed  him.  To  a 
clean,  correct,  and  level-headed  gentleman 
possessed  of  broad  acres  and  a  huge  rent- 
roll,  it  is  unpleasant  to  think  that  a  slovenly, 
shiftless  happy-go-lucky  tatterdemallion  may 
be  a  clean,  correct  and  level-headed  gentle- 
man's, superior  both  in  brains,  fascination,  and 
even  in  wealth.  We  can  fancy  the  correct  one 
subscribing  sympathy,  if  not  money,  to  a 
society  for  the  extinction  of  genius,  were 
not  such  a  body  entirely  superfluous  in  the 
present  condition  of  human  affairs. 

"It  may  be,"  said  Mr  Bevan  at  last,  "that 
those  people  are  very  pleasant  and  all  that, 
and  useful  in  the  world  and  so  on,  but  I  confess 
I  like  to  associate  with  people  who  cut  their 
hair,  and,  not  to  put  too  fine  a  point  on  it, 
wash " 

"  Oh,  Leavesley  washes,"  said  Miss  Morgan, 
"  he's  as  clean  as  a  new  pin.  And  as  for  cutting 
his  hair,  my ! — that's  what  spoils  him  in  my 
opinion  ;  why,  it's  cut  to  the  bone  almost,  like 
a  convict's.  All  artists  cut  their  hair  now ;  it's 
only  Polish  piano-players  and  violinists  wear 
their  hair  long." 


MISS   MORGAN  217 

"  Whether  they  cut  their  hair  '  to  the  bone ' 
or  wear  it  long  is  a  matter  of  indifference," 
said  Mr  Bevan.  "  They're  all  a  lot  of 
bounders,  and  I'd  be  sorry  to  see  a  sister 
of  mine  married  amongst  them — very 
sorry." 

Miss  Morgan  said  nothing,  the  warmth  of 
Mr  Bevan  on  the  subject  of  Leavesley  struck 
her  as  being  somewhat  strange ;  though  she 
said  nothing,  like  the  parrot,  she  thought  the 
more,  and  began  to  consider  Mr  Bevan  more 
attentively  and  to  "turn  him  over  in  her  mind." 
Now  the  fortunate  or  unfortunate  person  whom 
Miss  Morgan  distinguished  by  turning  them 
over  in  her  mind,  generally  gave  up  their 
secrets  in  the  process  unconsciously,  sub- 
consciously, or  sometimes  even  consciously. 
Those  wide-open  blue  eyes  that  seemed  always 
gazing  into  futurity  and  distance  saw  many 
happenings  of  the  present  invisible  to  most 
folk. 

Professor  Wilson  and  Hamilton-Cox  had 
wandered  away  through  the  garden  discussing 
Oxford  and  modern  thought.  Miss  Pursehouse, 
Lambert,  and  old  Miss  Jenkins  were  talking 
and  laughing,  and  seemingly  quite  happy  and 
content*  Said  Miss  Morgan,  looking  round ; 


218  FANNY  LAMBERT 

"Every  one's  busy,  like  the  children  in  the 
Sunday-school  story,  and  we've  no  one  to 
play  with ;  shall  we  go  for  a  walk  in  the 
village,  and  I'll  show  you  the  church  and  the 
pump  and  the  other  antiques  ?  " 

"Certainly,  I'll  be  delighted,"  said  Charles, 
rising. 

"  Then  com'long,"  said  Miss  Morgan, 
"  Pamela,  I'm  taking  Mr  Bevan  to  show  him 
the  village  and  the  creatures  that  there  abound. 
If  we're  not  back  by  six,  send  a  search- 
party." 

Rookhurst  is,  perhaps,  one  of  the  prettiest 
and  most  quaint  of  English  villages,  and  the 
proudest.  If  communities  receive  attention 
from  the  Recording  Angel,  amidst  Rookhurst's 
sins  written  in  that  tremendous  book  will  be 
found  this  entry,  "  It  calls  itself  a  town." 

"Isn't  the  village  sweet  and  sleepy?"  said 
Miss  Morgan,  as  she  tripped  along  beside  her 
companion;  "it  always  reminds  me  of  the 
dormouse  in  '  Alice  in  Wonderland ' — always 
asleep  except  at  tea-time,  when  it  wakes  up 
— and  talks  gossip.  That's  the  chemist's  shop 
with  the  two  little  red  bottles  in  the  window, 
isn't  it  cunning  ?  The  old  man  chemist  doesn't 
keep  any  poispns,  for  he's  half  blind  and's 


MISS   MORGAN  219 

afraid  of  mixing  the  strychnine  with  the  Epsom 
salts.  His  wife  does  the  poisoning ;  she  libels 
every  one  indifferently,  and  she  gave  out  that 
Pamela  was  a  lunatic  and  I  was  her  keeper. 
She  was  the  butcher's  daughter,  and  she 
married  the  chemist  man  for  his  money  ten 
years  ago,  hoping  he'd  die  right  off,  which 
he  didn't.  He  was  seventy  with  paralysis 
agitans  and  a  squint,  and  the  squint's  got  worse 
every  year,  and  the  paralysis  agitans  has  got 
better — serve  her  right.  That's  the  butcher's 
with  the  one  leg  of  mutton  hanging  up,  and 
the  little  pot  with  a  rose-tree  in  it.  He 
drinks,  and  beats  his  wife,  and  hunts  snakes 
down  the  road  when  he  has  the  jumps — but 
he  sells  very  good  mutton,  and  he's  civil. 
Here  comes  a  queen,  look ! " 

A  carriage  drawn  by  a  pair  of  chestnut 
horses  approached  and  passed  them,  revealing 
a  fat  and  bulbous-faced  lady  lolling  on  the 
cushions,  and  seen  through  a  haze  of 
dust. 

"  A  queen  ?  "  said  Bevan  ;  "  she  doesn't  look 
like  one." 

"  No  ?  She's  the  Queen  of  Snobs ;  looks 
as  if  she'd  come  out  of  a  joke-book,  doesn't 
she  ?  and  her  name  is — I  forget.  She  lives 


220  FANNY   LAMBERT 

in  a  big  house  a  mile  away.  That's  a  'pub.1 
There  are  seven  '  pubs '  in  this  village,  and 
this  is  a  model  village — at  least,  they  call  it 
so ;  what  an  immodel  village  in  England  must 
be,  I  don't  know.  There's  a  tailor  lives  in 
that  little  house ;  he  preaches  in  the  tin 
chapel  at  the  cross-roads.  I  heard  him  last 
Sunday." 

"You  go  to  Chapel?" 

"No,  I'm  Church.  I  heard  him  as  I 
was  passing  by — couldn't  help  it,  he  shouts 
so's  you  can  hear  him  at  '  The  Roost '  when  the 
wind's  blowing  that  way — You  religious  ?  " 

"  Not  very,  I'm  afraid." 

"Neither'm  I.  That's  the  doctor's;  he's 
Church  and  his  wife's  Chapel.  She  has  a 
sister  in  a  lunatic  asylum,  and  her  aunt  was 
sister  of  the  hair-cutter's  first  wife,  so  people 
despise  her  and  fling  it  in  her  teeth.  We 
can  raise  some  snobs  in  the  States,  but  they're 
button  mushrooms  to  the  toadstools  you  raise 
in  England.  Pamela  is  awfully  good  to  the 
doctor's  wife  just  because  the  other  people  are 
nasty  to  her.  Pamela  is  grit  all  through. 
The  parson  lives  there — a  long,  thin  man, 
looks  as  if  he'd  been  mangled,  and  they'd 
forgot  to  hang  him  out  to  dry.  How  are 


MISS   MORGAN  221 

you,  Mrs  Jones  ?  and  how  are  the  rheumatics  ?  " 
Miss  Morgan  had  paused  to  address  an  old 
lady  who  stood  at  the  door  of  a  cottage 
leaning  on  a  stick. 

"  That's  Mrs  Jones  ;  she  has  more  enquiries 
after  her  health  than  any  woman  in  England. 
Can  you  tell  why  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Well,  she  has  a  sort  of  rheumatics  that 
the  least  damp  affects,  and  so  she's  the  best 
barometer  in  this  part  of  the  country.  She's 
eighty,  and  has  been  used  to  weather  observa- 
tion so  long,  she  can  tell  what's  coming — hail, 
or  snow,  or  rain  to  a  T.  That  old  man  leaning 
on  the  gate,  he's  Francis,  the  village  lunatic, 
he's  just  ninety ;  fine  days  he  crawls  down 
to  Ditchingham  cross-roads  to  wait  for  the 
soldiers  coming  back  from  the  Crimea.  I 
call  that  pathetic,  but  they  only  laugh  at 
it  here.  He  must  have  waited  for  them 
when  he  was  a  boy  and  seen  them  marching 
along,  and  now  he  goes  and  waits  for  them — 
makes  me  feel  s'if  I  could  cry.  Here's  a 
shilling  for  you,  Francis ;  Miss  Pamela  is 
knitting  you  some  socks — good-day — poor  old 
thing!  Let's  see  now,  those  cottages  are 
all  work-people's,  and  there's  nothing  beyond, 


222  FANNY  LAMBERT 

only  the  road,  and  it's  dusty,  and  I  vote  to 
go  back.  Why,  there's  that  old  scamp  of  a 
Francis  making  a  bee-line  for  the  '  Hand 
in  Hand';  n'mind,  I  won't  have  to  wear  his 
head  in  the  morning." 

Miss  Morgan  chatted  all  the  way  back 
uninterruptedly,  disclosing  a  more  than  com- 
prehensive knowledge  of  all  the  affairs  of 
the  village  in  which  she  had  lived  some  ten 
days  or  less. 

At  the  gate  of  "  The  Roost "  she  stopped 
suddenly.  "My,  what  a  pity!" 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Nothing ;  only  I  might  have  called  and 
seen  Mrs  Harmer.  She  has  such  a  pretty 
daughter,  and  I'd  have  liked  you  to  have  seen 
her,  for  she's  the  image  of  Fanny  Lambert." 
She  stared  full  at  Mr  Be  van  as  she  said  this, 
and  there  was  a  something  in  her  tone  and 
a  something  in  her  manner,  and  a  some- 
thing in  her  glance  that  made  Charles 
Bevan  lose  control  of  his  facial  capillaries 
and  blush. 

"  Fanny's  cooked  him,"  thought  the  lady 
of  the  blue  eyes  as  she  retired  to  dress  for 
dinner.  "  But  what  in  the  nation  did  he 
mean  by  saying  he  did  not  know  her?" 


A   CURE   FOR   BLINDNESS        223 

"What  the  deuce  made  her  say  that  in 
such  a  way?"  asked  Mr  Bevan  of  himself 
as  he  assumed  the  clothes  laid  out  for  him 
by  the  careful  Strutt. 


CHAPTER   III 

A   CURE   FOR   BLINDNESS 

"  THE  British  thoroughbred  is  not  played  out 
by  any  means.  Look  at  the  success  of 
imported  blood  all  over  the  world.  Look 
at  Phantom,  the  grandsire  of  Voltaire,  and 

Bay  Middleton "  Mr  Bevan  paused.     He 

was  addressing  George  Lambert,  and  suddenly 
found  that  he  was  addressing  the  entire  dinner- 
table  in  one  of  those  hiatuses  of  conversa- 
tion in  which  every  tougue  is  suddenly 
held. 

"  Yes,"  said  Hamilton-Cox,  continuing  some 
desultory  remarks  on  literature,  in  general,  into 
which  this  eruption  of  stud  book  had  broken  ; 
"but  you  see  the  old  French  ballads  are 
for  the  most  part  by  the  greatest  of  all  poets, 
Time.  Beside  those  the  greatest  modern 
poems  seem  gaudy  and  Burlington  Arcady, 


224  FANNY   LAMBERT 

if  I  may  use  the  expression.  An  old  folk- 
song that  has  been  handed  from  generation 
to  generation,  played  on,  so  to  speak,  like 
an  old  fiddle  by  all  sorts  of  hands,  gains  a 
sweetness  and  richness  never  imagined  by 
the  simple-minded  person  who  wrote  it  or 
invented  it. 

"  You  write  poems  ?  "  asked  Miss  Morgan. 

*'  My  dear  lady,"  sighed  Hamilton-Cox, 
"nobody  writes  poems  nowadays,  or  if  they 
do  they  keep  the  fact  a  secret.  I  have  a 
younger  brother  who  writes  poetry 'V 

"  Thought  you  said  no  one  wrote  it." 

"  Younger  brothers  are  nobodies.  I  say  I 
have  a  younger  brother,  he  writes  most 
excellent  verse — reams  of  it.  Some  years  ago 
he  would  have  been  pursued  by  publishers. 
Well,  only  the  other  day  he  copied  out  some 
of  his  most  cherished  productions  and 
approached  a  London  publisher  with  them. 
He  entered  the  office  at  five  o'clock,  and 
some  few  minutes  later  the  people  in  Piccadilly 
were  asking  of  each  other,  '  What's  all  that 
row  in  Vigo  Street?'  No,  a  publisher  of  to- 
day would  as  soon  see  a  burglar  in  his  office 
as  a  poet." 

'  I  never  took  much  stock  in  poetry,"  said 


A   CURE   FOR   BLINDNESS        225 

the  practical  Miss  Morgan.  "I'm  like  Mr 
Bevan." 

"  I  can't  stand  the  stuff,"  said  Charles. 
"  The  Boy  Stood  on  the  Burning  Deck,  and 
all  that  sort  of  twaddle,  makes  me  ill." 

Pamela  looked  slightly  pained.  Charles  was 
enjoying  his  dinner ;  Burgundy  and  Moselle 
had  induced  a  slight  flush  to  suffuse  his 
countenance.  If  you  are  engaged  and  a 
gourmand  never  let  your  fiancee  see  you  eat. 
A  man  mad  drunk  is  to  the  sensitive  mind 
a  less  revolting  picture  than  a  man  "enjoying 
his  food." 

"  I  heard  a  man  once,"  said  Miss  Morgan, 
"he  was  squiffy " 

"  Lulu ! " 

"  Well,  he  was ;  and  he  was  reciting  / 
Stood  on  the  Bridge  at  Midnight.  He'd  got 
everything  mixed,  and  had  got  as  far  as 

" '  I  stood  on  the  moon  by  bridgelight 
As  the  church  was  striking  the  tower — ' 

when  every  one  laughed,  and  he  sat  down — 
on  another  man's  hat.  That's  the  sort  of 
poetry  I  like,  something  to  make  you  laugh. 
Gracious !  what's  the  good  of  manufacturing 

misery  and  letting  it  loose  in  little  poems  to 

P 


226  FANNY   LAMBERT 

buzz  round  and  torment  people  ?  isn't  there 
enough  misery  ready  made  ?  Hood's  Song  of 
the  Shirt  always  makes  me  cry." 

"Hood,"  said  Professor  Wilson,  "was  a 
man  of  another  age,  a  true  poet.  He  could 
not  have  written  his  Song  of  the  Shirt  to-day  ; 
the  decadence 

"  Now,  excuse  me,"  said  Hamilton-Cox,  "we 
have  fought  that  question  of  decadence  out/ 
you  and  I.  Hood,  I  admit,  could  not  have 
written  his  Song  of  the  Shirt  to-day,  simply 
because  shirts  are  manufactured  wholesale  by 
machinery,  and  he  would  have  to  begin  it. 
'  Whir — whir — whir,'  which  would  not  be 
poetry.  Women  slave  at  coats  and  waistcoats 
and  other  garments  nowadays,  and  you  could 
scarcely  write  a  song  of  the  waistcoat  or  a 
song  of  the  pair  of — you  understand  my  point. 
Poetry  is  very  false,  the  matchbox-maker  is 
as  deserving  of  the  poet's  attention  as  the 
shirt-maker,  yet  a  poem  beginning  '  Paste, 
paste,  paste '  would  be  received  with  laughter, 
not  with  tears.  You  say  we  are  decadents 
because  we  don't  encourage  poetry.  I  say 
we  are  not,  we  are  simply  more  practical — 
poetry  is  to  all  intents  and  purposes  dead " 


A   CURE   FOR   BLINDNESS        227 

"Is  it  ?  "  said  George  Lambert.  "Is  King 
Lear  dead  ?  I  was  crying  over  him  last  night, 
but  it  wasn't  at  his  funeral  I  was  crying.  Is 
old  Suckling  dead  ?  I  bought  a  first  edition 
of  him  some  time  ago,  and  the  fact  wasn't 
mentioned  or  hinted  at  in  the  verses.  Is 
Sophocles  dead?  Old  Maloney  at  Trinity 
pounded  him  into  my  head,  and  he's  there 
now  alive  as  ever ;  and  if  I  was  blind  to- 
morrow, I'd  still  have  the  skies  over  his 
plays  to  look  at  and  the  choruses  to  hear. 
Ah  no,  Mr  Cox,  poetry  is  not  dead,  but 
they  don't  write  it  just  now.  They  don't 
write  it,  but  it's  in  every  one's  heart  waiting 
to  be  tapped,  only  there's  no  man  with  an 
augur  sharp  enough  and  true  enough  to  do 
the  tapping." 

Pamela  looked  pleased. 

"  I  did  not  know  that  you  were  fond  of 
poetry,"  she  said. 

"  I  love  it,"  said  Lambert,  in  a  tone  that 
reminded  Charles  Bevan  of  Fanny's  tone  when 
she  declared  her  predilection  for  cats. 

"  I  declare  it's  delightful,"  said  Professor 
Wilson,  "to  find  a  man  of  the  world  who 
knows  all  about  horses,  and  is  a  good  billiard- 


228  FANNY   LAMBERT 

player,  and  all  that,  confessing  a  love  for 
poetry." 

"Perhaps  Mr  Lambert  is  a  poet  himself," 
said  Hamilton-Cox,  with  a  suspicion  of  a 
sneer,  "or  has  written  poetry." 

"  Poetry !  yards  of  it,"  answered  the  accused 
with  a  mellow  laugh,  "when  I  was  young 
and — wise.  The  first  poem  I  ever  wrote  was 
all  about  the  moon ;  I  wrote  it  when  I  was 
eleven,  and  sent  it  to  a  housemaid.  Oh, 
murder!  but  the  things  that  we  do  when  we 
are  young." 

"Did  she  read  it?" 

"  She  couldn't  read ;  it  was  in  the  days 
before  the  Board  schools  and  the  higher 
education  of  women.  She  couldn't  read,  she 
was  forty,  and  ugly  as  sin ;  and  she  boxed 
my  ears  and  told  my  mother,  and  my  mother 
told  my  father,  and  he  leathered  me.  He 
said,  '  I'll  teach  you  to  write  poetry  to  house- 
maids.' But  somehow,"  said  Mr  Lambert, 
admiring  with  one  eye  the  ruby-tinted  light 
in  his  glass  of  port,  "somehow,  with  all  his 
teaching,  I  never  wrote  a  poem  to  a  house- 
maid again." 

"  That  must  have  been  a  loss  to  literature." 


A   CURE   FOR   BLINDNESS        229 

"  Yes,  but  it  was  a  gain  to  housemaids ; 
and  as  housemaids  seem  the  main  producers 
of  novels  and  poems  nowadays,  begad,"  said 
Mr  Lambert,  "  it's,  after  all,  a  gain  to 
literature." 

"  That's  one  for  you,  Cox,"  said  Professor 
Wilson,  and  Hamilton-Cox  laughed,  as  he 
could  well  afford  to  do,  for  his  lucubrations 
brought  him  in  a  good  fifteen  hundred  a  year, 
and  his  reputation  was  growing. 

On  the  lawn,  under  the  starlit  night  after 
dinner,  Bevan  had  his  fianct  for  a  moment 
alone.  They  sat  in  creaky  basket-work  chairs 
a  good  yard  apart  from  each  other.  The 
moon  was  rising  over  the  hills  and  deep, 
dark  woods  of  Sussex,  the  air  was  warm 
and  perfumed :  it  was  an  ideal  night  for 
love-making. 

"  When  I  left  you  I  had  some  dinner  at 
the  Nord,"  said  Mr  Bevan,  tipping  the  ash 
off  his  cigar.  "  The  worst  dinner  I've  ever 
had,  I  think.  Upon  my  word,  I  think  it  was 
the  worst  dinner  I  ever  had.  When  I  got 
to  Dover  I  was  so  tired  I  turned  into  the 
hotel,  and  came  on  next  morning.  What  sort 
of  crossing  did  you  have  ?  " 


230  FANNY   LAMBERT 

"  Oh,  very  fine,"  said  Pamela,  stifling  a  yawn, 
and  glancing  sideways  at  a  group  of  her  guests 
dimly  seen  in  a  corner  of  the  garden,  but  happy, 
to  judge  from  the  laughter  that  came  from  them. 

"Are  the  Napiers  back  in  England  yet?" 

"  No,  they  are  still  in  Paris." 

"  What  on  earth  do  they  want  staying  there 
for  so  long?  it  must  be  empty  now." 

"  Yes,  it  was  emptying  fast  when  we  left, 
wasn't  a  soul  left  scarcely.  Do  you  know,  I 
have  a  great  mind  to  run  over  to  Ostend  for 
a  few  weeks.  The  Napiers  are  going  there ; 
it's  rather  fun,  I  believe." 

"  I  wouldn't.  What's  the  good  of  going  to 
these  foreign  places  ?  stay  here." 

Pamela  was  silent,  and  the  inspiriting  dialogue 
ceased. 

A  great  beetle  moving  through  the  night 
across  the  garden  filled  the  air  with  its  boom. 
The  group  in  the  corner  of  the  garden  still 
were  laughing  and  talking ;  amidst  their 
voices  could  be  distinguished  that  of  Hamilton- 
Cox.  Mr  Cox  had  not  a  pleasant  voice  ;  it  was 
too  highly  pitched,  and  it  jarred  on  the  ear  of 
Mr  Bevan  and  on  his  soul.  His  soul  was  in 
an  irritable  mood.  When  we  speak  of  the  soul 


A   CURE   FOR   BLINDNESS        231 

we  refer  to  an  unknown  quantity,  and  when 
we  speak  of  its  condition  we  refer  sometimes, 
perhaps,  to  just  a  touch  of  liver,  or  sometimes 
to  an  extra  glass  of  champagne. 

"  I  can't  make  out  what  induces  you  to 
surround  yourself  with  those  sort  of  people," 
said  Mr  Bevan,  casting  his  cigar-end  away 
and  searching  for  his  cigarette  case. 

"  What  sort  of  people  ?  " 

"Oh,  that  writer  man." 

"  Hamilton-Cox  ?  " 

"  Yes — is  that  his  name  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  surrounding  myself  with  Mr 
Cox  ;  the  thing  is  physically  and  physiologically 
impossible.  Do  talk  sense,  Charles." 

Charles  retired  into  silence,  and  Miss 
Pursehouse  yawned  again,  sub-audibly.  After 
a  few  moments  —  "Where  did  you  pick  up 
the  Lamberts?" 

"  You  mean  Mr  Lambert  and  his  daughter?  " 

"Has  he  a  daughter ? " 

"  Has  he  a  daughter  ?  Why,  Lulu  Morgan, 
when  I  asked  her  what  you  and  she  had 
found  to  talk  about,  said  Fanny  Lambert " 

"It  is  perfectly  immaterial  what  Miss 
Morgan  said ;  some  of  her  sayings  are 


232  FANNY  LAMBERT 

scarcely  commendable.  I  believe  she  did  say 
something  about  a  Miss  Lambert.  When  I  said 
'has  he  a  daughter?'  I  spoke  with  a  meaning." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  that." 

"What  I  meant  was,  that  it  would  have 
been  much  better  for  him  to  have  brought  his 
daughter  down  here  with  him." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  insinuate  that  she  is — 
unable  to  take  care  of  herself  in  town  ?  " 

"  I  mean  to  insinuate  nothing,  but  according 
to  my  old-fashioned  ideas " 

"  Go  on,  this  is  interesting,"  said  Miss 
Pursehouse,  who  guessed  what  was  coming. 

"According  to  my  old-fashioned  ideas  it  is 
scarcely  the  thing  for  a  man,  a  married  man, 
to  pay  a  visit " 

"You  mean  it's  improper  for  me  to  have 
Mr  Lambert  staying  here  as  a  guest  ? " 

"  Improper  was  not  the  word  I  used." 

"  Oh,  nonsense !  you  meant  it.  Well,  I  think 
I  am  the  best  judge  of  my  own  propriety, 
and  I  see  nothing  improper  in  the  transaction. 
My  aunt  is  here,  Lulu  Morgan  is  here,  you 
are  here,  Professor  Wilson  is  here,  there's 
a  poet  coming  to-morrow — I  suppose  that's 
improper  too.  I  do  wish  you  would  be 


A   CURE   FOR   BLINDNESS        233 

sensible ;  besides,  Mr  Lambert  is  not  a 
married  man,  he  is  a  widower." 

"  Does  he  know  that  you  are  engaged  ? " 

"  Sure,  I  don't  know.  I  don't  go  about 
with  a  placard  with  '  I  am  engaged '  written 
on  it  on  my  back.  Why  do  you  ask  ? " 

"  Well — um — if  a  stranger  had  been  here 
at  tea  to-day  he  would  scarcely  have  thought 
that  the  engaged  couple " 

"  Go  on,  this  is  delightful ;  it's  absolutely 
bank-holidayish — the  engaged  couple — go  on." 

"  Were  you  and  I." 

"  You  mean  you  and  me  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  The  behaviour  of  *  engaged  couples '  in 
decent  society  is,  I  believe,  pretty  much  the 
same  as  our  behaviour  has  been,  and  I  hope 
will  be.  How  would  you  have  it?  Would 
you  like  to  walk  about,  I  clinging  to  your 
arm,  and  you  playing  a  mouth-organ  ?  Ought 
we  to  exchange  hats  with  each  other?  Shall 
I  call  you  Choly  and  put  ice  down  your  neck 
at  dinner?  Ought  we  to  hire  a  brake  and 
go  on  a  bean  feast?  I  wish  you  would 
instruct  me.  I  hate  to  appear  gauche,  and 
I  hate  not  to  do  the  correct  thing.0 


234  FANNY   LAMBERT 

"Vulgarity  is  always  painful  to  me,"  said  Mr 
Bevan,  "  but  senseless  vulgarity  is  doubly  so." 

"  Thanks,  your  compliments  are  charming." 

"I  was  not  complimenting  you,  I  simply " 

"  I  know,  simply  hinting  that  I  was  sense- 
less and  vulgar." 

"I   never " 

"  I  know.  Shall  we  change  the  subject — 
what's  all  this?" 

"  Please  come  and  help  us,"  said  Miss 
Morgan,  coming  up.  "  We've  got  the 
astronomical  telescope,  and  we  can't  make 
head  or  tail  of  it." 

Miss  Pursehouse  rose  and  approached  the 
group  surrounding  an  astronomical  telescope 
that  stood  on  the  lawn.  It  was  trained  on 
the  moon,  and  Hamilton-Cox,  with  a  hand 
over  one  eye  and  the  other  eye  at  the  eye- 
piece, was  making  an  observation. 

"  Sometimes  I  can  see  stars,  and  sometimes 
nothing.  I  can't  see  the  moon  at  all." 

"  Shut  the  other  eye,"  said  Lambert. 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Miss  Pursehouse,  "if  you 
remove  the  cap  from  the  telescope  you  will  be 
able  to  see  better.  A  very  simple  thing  some- 
times cures  blindness." 


TIC-DOULOUREUX  235 


CHAPTER    IV 

TIC-DOULOUREUX 

MR  BEVAN  found  no  chance  for  a  ttte-k-tite 
with  his  fiancte  again  that  night,  perhaps 
because  he  did  not  seek  one ;  he  was  not  in 
the  humour  for  love-making.  He  felt — to  use 
the  good  old  nursery  term  that  applies  so 
often,  so  very  often,  to  grown-ups — "  fractious." 

He  retired  to  his  bedroom  at  half-past 
eleven,  and  was  sitting  with  an  unlit  cigarette 
in  his  mouth,  staring  at  the  wood-fire  brightly 
burning  in  his  grate,  when  a  knock  came  to 
the  door  and  Lambert  appeared. 

"  I  just  dropped  in  to  say  good-night.  Am 
I  disturbing  you  ?  " 

"  Not  a  bit ;  sit  down  and  have  a  cigarette." 

Mr  Lambert  helped  himself  to  a  Marcovitch 
from  a  box  on  the  table,  drew  up  an  easy- 
chair  to  the  fire  and  sank  into  it  with  a  sigh. 

"  It  seems  funny,"  said  he  in  a  meditative 
tone,  "that  I  should  be  sitting  here  smok- 
ing and  yarning  with  you  to-night,  and  only 


236  FANNY   LAMBERT 

yesterday,  so  to  speak,  we  were  fighting  like 
bull-dogs ;  but  we're  friends  now,  and  you 
must  come  and  see  me  when  you're  back  in 
town.  You  live  in  the  'Albany'?  I  had  rooms 
there  once,  years  ago  —  years  ago.  Lord ! 
what  a  change  has  come  over  London  since 
the  days  when  Evans'  was  stuffed  of  a  night 
with  all  manner  of  people  —  the  rows  and 
ructions  I  remember!  The  things  that  went 
on.  One  night  in  Evans'  I  remember  an  old 
gentleman  coming  in  and  ordering  a  chop, 
and  no  sooner  had  he  put  on  his  spectacles 
and  settled  down  to  it  with  a  smile  all  over  his 
face,  than  Bob  O'Grady,  of  the  loth — Black 
O'Grady — who'd  been  watching  him— he  was 
drunk  as  a  lord — rose  up  and  said,  '  'Scuse  me,' 
he  said,  and  took  the  chop  by  the  shank-bone 
and  flung  it  on  the  stage.  A  man  could  take 
his  whack  in  those  days,  and  be  none  the 
worse  for  it ;  but  men  are  different,  somehow, 
now,  and  they  go  in  for  tea  and  muffins  and 
nerves  just  as  the  women  used  to,  when  I  was 
twenty ;  and  the  women,  begad,  are  the  best 
men  now'days.  Look  at  Miss  Pursehouse ! 
as  charming  as  a  woman  and  as  clever  as  a 
man.  Look  at  this  house  of  hers  !  One  would 


TIC-DOULOUREUX  237 

think  a  man  owned  it,  everything  is  so  well 
done :  brandies  and  sodas  at  your  elbows, 
matches  all  over  the  place,  and  electric  bells 
and  a  telephone.  That's  the  sort  of  woman  for 
me — not  that  I'm  not  fond  of  the  old-fashioned 
sort  of  woman  too.  Fanny,  my  daughter — I 
must  introduce  you  to  her — is  as  old-fashioned 
as  they  make  'em.  Screeches  if  she  sees  a  rat, 
and  knows  nothing  of  woman's  rights  or  the 
higher  education  of  females,  and  is  always 
ready  to  turn  on  the  water-works,  bless  her 
heart !  ready  and  willing  to  cry  over  anything 
you  may  put  before  her  that's  got  the  ghost  of 
a  cry  in  it.  But,  bless  you  !  what's  the  good  of 
talking  about  old-fashioned  or  modern  women  ? 
From  Hecuba  down,  they're  all  the  same — 
born  to  deceive  us  and  make  our  lives  happy." 

"Can't  see  how  a  woman  that  deceives  a 
man  can  make  him  happy." 

"My  dear  fellow,  sure,  what's  happiness  but 
illusion,  and  what's  illusion  but  deception,  and 
talking  about  deception,  aren't  men — the  black- 
guards ! — just  as  bad  at  deceiving  as  women  ?  " 

Mr  Bevan  made  no  reply  to  this ;  he  shifted 
uneasily  in  his  chair. 

44  You  live  at  Highgate  ?  "  he  said. 


238  FANNY   LAMBERT 

Lambert  woke  up  from  a  reverie  he  had 
fallen  into  with  a  start. 

"Yes,  bad  luck  to  it !  I've  got  a  house  there 
I  can't  get  rid  of,  and,  talking  of  old-fashioned 
things,  it's  an  old-fashioned  house.  There 
aren't  any  electric  bells,  and  if  there  were 
you'd  as  likely  as  not  ring  up  the  ghost.  For 
there's  a  ghost  there,  sure  enough ;  she  nearly 
frightened  the  gizzard  out  of  my  butler  James." 

He  leaned  back  luxuriously  in  his  chair, 
blowing  cigarette  rings  at  the  fire,  whilst 
Charles  Bevan  mentally  recalled  the  vision  of 
"My  butler  James." 

He  could  not  but  admit  that  Lambert 
carried  his  poverty  exceedingly  well,  and  with 
a  much  better  grace  than  that  with  which 
many  men  carry  their  wealth.  The  impression 
that  Fanny  Lambert  had  made  upon  him  was 
not  effaced  in  any  way  by  the  impression  made 
upon  him  by  her  father.  Lambert  was  not 
an  impossible  man.  Wildly  extravagant  he 
might  be,  and  reckless  to  the  verge  of  lunacy, 
but  he  was  a  gentleman  ;  and  in  saying  the 
word  "gentleman,"  my  dear  sir  or  madam 
I  do  not  refer  to  birth.  There  lives  many 
a  hideous  bounder  who  yet  can  fling  his 


TIC-DOULOUREUX  239 

great-great-great-grandfather  at  your  head, 
and  many  a  noble-minded  gentleman,  the 
present  or  past  existence  of  whose  father  is 
demonstrable  only  by  the  logic  of  physiology. 

Lambert  went  off  to  his  room  at  twelve, 
and  Mr  Bevan  passed  a  broken  night.  He 
dreamt  of  lawyers  and  sunflowers.  He 
dreamt  that  he  saw  old  Francis,  the  village 
lunatic,  waiting  at  the  cross-roads ;  and  when 
he  asked  him  what  he  was  waiting  for, 
Francis  replied  that  he  was  waiting  to  see  his 
(Mr  Bevan's)  marriage  procession  go  by :  a 
dream  which  was  scarcely  a  hopeful  omen, 
considering  the  object  of  the  old  man's  daily 
vigil  as  revealed  by  Lulu  Morgan. 

He  came  down  to  breakfast  late.  His 
hostess  did  not  appear,  and  Miss  Morgan 
announced  that  her  friend  was  suffering  from 
tic-douloureux. 

"  'S  far  as  I  can  make  out,  it's  like  having 
the  grippe  in  one  eye.  I've  physicked  her  with 
Bile  Beans  and  Perry  Davis,  and  I've  sent 
for  some  Antikamnia.  If  she's  not  better  by 
luncheon  I'll  send  for  the  doctor." 

She  was  not  down  by  luncheon.  After  that 
meal,  Charles,  strolling  across  the  hall  to  the 


240  FANNY   LAMBERT 

billiard-room,  felt  something  pluck  at  his  sleeve. 
It  was  Miss  Morgan. 

"  I  want  to  speak  to  you  alone  for  a  minute," 
said  she.  "  Come  into  the  garden  ;  there's  no 
one  there."/ 

He  followed  her,  much  wondering,  and  they 
passed  down  a  shady  path  till  they  lost  sight  of 
the  house. 

"Pamela's  worried,"  said  Lulu,  "and  I  want 
to  talk  to  you  about  her " 

"  Why,  what  can  be " 

"We've  been  sitting  up  all  night,  she  and 
I,  and  we've  been  discussing  things,  you 
'specially." 

"  Thank  you " 

"  Now,  don't  you  be  mad,  for  Pamela's  vury 
fond  of  you,  and  I  like  you,  for  you're  a  right 
good  sort ;  but,  see  here,  Pamela  thinks  she's 
made  a  mistake." 

A   queer   new  feeling   entered   Mr  Bevan's 
mind,  peeped  round  and  passed  through  it,  so 
to  speak — a  feeling  of  relief — or  more  strictly 
peaking,  release, 

"Indeed?" 

"  She  thinks  you  have  both  made  a  mistake, 
and — you  know " 


T'IC-DOULOUREUX  241 

.  "  The  fact  is,  she  doesn't  want  to  marry  me  ; 
why  not  say  it  at  once  ?  or,  rather,  why  doesn't 
she  say  so  to  me  frankly,  instead  of  deputing 
another  person  to  do  so  ?  " 

"  There's  a  letter,"  said  Miss  Morgan,  pro- 
ducing one  from  her  pocket.  "  She  wrote  it  and 
told  me  to  give  it  to  you  ;  it's  eight  pages  long, 
and  all  sorts  of  things  in  it — she's  very  fond  of 
you — keep  it  and  read  it.  But  I  tell  you  one 
line  that's  in  it,  she  says  she  will  always  feel  as 
a  sister  to  you,  or  be  a  sister  to  you,  or  words 
to  that  effect — that's  fatal — once  a  gurl  says  that 
she's  said  the  last  word." 

"  I  don't  think  she  ever  cared  for  me,  really," 
said  Mr  Bevan — "  let  us  sit  down  on  this  seat — 
no,  I  don't  think  she  really  ever  cared  for  me." 

"  What  made  you  two  get  engaged  ?  " 

"  Why  should  we  not  ?  " 

"  Because  you're  too  much  alike ;  you  are 
both  rich,  and  both  steady  and  well-balanced, 
you  know,  and  that  sort  of  thing.  Likes  ought 
never  to  get  married.  Dear — dear — dear — what 
a  pity " 

"What?" 

"  I  was  only  thinking  of  all  the  love-making 
there's  wasted  in  the  world.  Now  I  know  so 

Q 


242  FANNY   LAMBERT 

many  girls  who  would  suit  you  to  a  T.  I'll 
tell  you  of  one,  if  you  like 

"  Thank  you,  I — um— 

"  I  was  thinking  of  Fanny  Lambert,"  said 
Miss  Morgan  in  a  dreamy  voice.  "  The  girl  I 
told  you  of  yesterday 

Now,  Mr  Be  van  was  the  last  man  in  the 
world — as  I  daresay  you  perceive — to  discuss 
his  feelings  with  any  one.  But  Miss  Morgan 
had  a  patent  method  of  her  own  for  extracting 
confidences,  of  making  people  talk  out,  as  she 
would  have  expressed  it  herself. 

"  I  said  to  you  yesterday  that  I  had  never 
met  Miss  Lambert :  I  had  reasons  connected 
with  some  law  business  for  saying  so — as  a 
matter  of  fact,  I  have  met  her — once." 

"  Oh,  that's  quite  enough.  If  you've  met 
Fanny  Lambert  once,  you  have  met  her  for 
ever.  Does  she  like  you? — I  don't  ask  you 
do  you  like  her,  for,  of  course,  you  do." 

"  I  think — she  does." 

"You  mustn't  think — women  hate  men  that 
think,  they  like  them  to  be  sure.  If  a  man 
was  only  bold  enough  he  could  marry  any 
woman  on  earth." 

"Is  that  your  opinion ? " 


TIC-DOULOUREUX  243 

"  'Tis,  and  my  opinion  is  worth  having. 
What  a  woman  wants  most  is  some  one  to 
make  up  her  mind  for  her.  Go  and  make 
Fanny's  mind  up  for  her ;  you  and  she  are 
just  suited." 

"  In  what  way?" 

"  To  begin  with,  you're  rich  and  she's  poor." 
"  You  said  yesterday  that  she  was  rich." 
"Yes,  but  Pamela  told  me  last  night  the 
Lamberts  are  simply  stone  -  broke.  Mr 
Lambert  told  her  all  his  affairs,  his  estates 
are  all  encumbered.  She  says  he's  just  like  a 
child,  and  wants  protecting ;  so  he  is,  and  so's 
Fanny ;  they're  both  a  pair  of  children,  and 
you  are  just  the  man  to  keep  Fanny  straight, 
and  make  her  life  happy  and  buy  her  beautiful 
clothes  and  diamonds.  Why,  she'll  be  the 
rage  of  London,  Fanny  will,  if  she's  only 
properly  staged  —  and  she's  a  dear  and  a 
good  woman,  and  would  make  any  man  happy. 
My!" 

Mr  Bevan  had  taken  Miss  Morgan's  hand  in 
his  and  squeezed  it. 

"Thank  you  for  saying  all  that,"  said  he. 
"  Few  women  praise  another  woman.  I  shall 
leave  here  by  this  evening's  train,  of  course ;  I 


244  FANNY  LAMBERT 

cannot  stay  here  any  longer.  I  will  think 
over  what  course  I  will  pursue." 

"  For  heaven's  sake,  don't  think,  or  you'll 
find  her  snapped  up  ;  I  have  a  prevision  that 
you  will.  Go  and  say  to  Fanny  '  marry  me.' 
I  do  want  to  see  her  settled,  she's  not  like 
me,  that  can  rough  it,  and  she's  just  the  girl 
to  fling  herself  away  on  some  rubbish." 

"  I  will  see,"  said  Mr  Bevan.  "  I  frankly 
confess  that  Miss  Lambert — of  course,  this  is 
between  you  and  me — that  Miss  Lambert  has 
made  me  think  a  good  deal  about  her,  but 
these  things  are  not  done  in  a  moment." 

"  Aren't  they  ?  I  tell  you  love-making  is  just 
like  making  pancakes,  if  you  don't  do  them 
quick  they're  done  for.  You  just  remember 
this,  that  many  a  man  has  proposed  to  a  girl 
the  first  time  he's  met  her  and  been  accepted. 
Women  like  it,  it's  so  different  from  the  other 
thing — and,  look  here,  kiss  her  first  and  ask 
her  afterwards.  Have  two  or  three  glasses 
of  champagne — you've  just  got  the  steady 
brain  that  can  stand  it — and  it  will  liven  you 
up.  I'm  an  old  stager." 

"  I  will  write  to  Miss  Pursehouse  from 
London  to-morrow." 


THE   AMBASSADOR  245 

"  Dear  me !  I  don't  believe  you've  been 
listening  to  a  word  I've  been  saying.  Well, 
go  your  own  gate,  as  the  old  woman  said  to 
the  cow  that  'would  burst  through  the  hedge 
and  tumbled  into  the  chalk-pit  and  broke  its 
leg.  What  you  going  to  do  with  that  letter  ?  " 

"  I  will  read  it  in  the  train." 


CHAPTER   V 

THE   AMBASSADOR 

IT  never  rains  but  it  pours.  It  was  pouring 
just  now  with  Leavesley. 

The  morning  after  the  excursion  to  Epping 
Forest  he  had  written  a  long  letter  to  Fanny  : 
a  business  -  like  letter,  explanatory  of  his 
prospects  in  life. 

He  had  exhibited  in  this  year's  Academy ; 
he  had  exhibited  in  the  New  gallery — more, 
he  had  sold  the  Academy  picture  for  forty 
pounds.  He  had  a  hundred  a  year  of  his  own, 
which,  as  he  sagaciously  pointed  out,  was 
"something."  If  Fanny  would  only  wait  a 
year,  give  him  something  to  hope  for,  some- 
thing to  live  for,  something  to  work  for.  Three 


246  FANNY   LAMBERT 

pages  of  business-like  statements  ending  with 
a  fourth  page  of  raving  declarations  of  love. 
The  letter  of  a  lunatic,  as  all  love-letters  more 
or  less  are. 

He  had  posted  this  and  waited  for  a  reply, 
but  none  had  come.  He  little  knew  that  his 
letter  and  a  bill  for  potatoes  were  behind  a 
plate  on  the  kitchen  dresser  at  "  The  Laurels," 
stuffed  there  by  Susannah  in  a  fit  of  abstrac- 
tion, also  the  outcome  of  the  troubles  of  love. 

On  top  of  this  all  sorts  of  minor  worries  fell 
upon  him.  Mark  Moses  and  Sonenshine, 
stimulated  by  the  two  pounds  ten  paid  on 
account,  were  bombarding  him  with  requests 
for  more.  A  colour-man  was  also  active  and 
troublesome,  and  a  bootmaker  lived  on  the 
stairs. 

Belinda,  vice  -  president  of  the  institution 
during  Mrs  Tugwell's  sojourn  at  Margate, 
was  "  cutting  up  shines,"  cooking  disgrace- 
fully, not  cleaning  boots,  giving  "lip"  when 
remonstrated  with,  and  otherwise  revelling  in 
her  little  brief  authority.  A  man  who  had 
all  but  commissioned  a  portrait  of  a  bull-dog 
sent  word  to  say  that  the  sittings  couldn't  take 
place  as  the  dog  was  dead. 


THE   AMBASSADOR  247 

Then  a  cat  had  slipped  into  his  bedroom 
and  kittened  on  his  best  suit  of  clothes  ;  and 
Fernandez,  the  picture  dealer  to  whom  he  had 
taken  the  John  the  Baptist  on  the  top  of  a  four- 
wheeler,  had  offered  him  five  pounds  ten  for  it ; 
and,  worst  of  all,  driven  by  necessity,  he  had 
not  haggled,  but  had  taken  the  five  pounds  ten, 
thus  for  ever  ruining  himself  with  Fernandez, 
who  had  been  quite  prepared  to  pay  fifteen. 

The  Captain,  who  had  suddenly  come  in  for 
a  windfall  of  eighty  pounds,  was  going  on  like 
a  millionaire — haunting  the  studio  half-tipsy, 
profuse  with  offers  of  assistance  and  drinks, 
and,  to  cap  all,  the  weather  was  torrid.  The 
only  consolation  was  Verneede,  who  would 
listen  for  hours  to  the  praises  of  Miss  Lambert, 
nodding  his  head  like  a  Chinese  mandarin  and 
smoking  Leavesley's  cigarettes. 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  do,"  said  the  unhappy 
young  man,  during  one  of  these  conferences, 
"  I  don't  know  what  to  do.  It's  so  unlike  her." 

"  Write  again." 

"  Not  I — at  least,  how  can  I  ?  If  she  won't 
answer  that  letter  there's  no  use  in  writing 
any  more." 

"  Call." 


248  FANNY  LAMBERT 

"I'm  not  going  to  creep  round  like  a  dog 
that  has  been  beaten." 

"  True." 

"  She  may  be  ill,  for  all  I  know.  How  do 
I  know  that  she  is  not  ill  ? " 

"  Illness,  my  dear  Leavesley,  is  one  of  those 
things " 

11 1  know — but  the  question  is,  how  am  I  to 
find  out?" 

"Could  you  not  apply  to  their  family 
physician  ?  I  should  go  to  him,  frankly " 

"  But  I  don't  know  who  their  doctor  is — 
do  talk  sense.  See  here !  could  you  call  and 
ask — ask  did  she  get  home  all  right,  and  that 
sort  of  thing?" 

"  Most  certainly,  with  pleasure,  if  it  would 
relieve  your  feelings.  Anything  —  anything  I 
can  do,  my  dear  Leavesley,  in  an  emergency 
like  this  you  can  count  on  me  to  do." 

"  You  needn't  mention  my  name." 

"  I  shall  carefully  abstain." 

"  Unless  she  asks,  you  know." 

"  Certainly,  unless  she  asks." 

"  Armbruster  came  in  this  morning,  he's 
going  to  America.  He's  got  on  to  a  big  firm 
for  book  illustrating ;  he  wanted  me  to  go  with 


THE   AMBASSADOR  249 

him  and  try  my  luck — offered  to  pay  the 
expenses.  You  might  hint,  perhaps,  if  the 
subject  turns  up,  that  you  think  I  am  going 
to  America." 

"Certainly." 

"  When  can  you  go  ?  " 

"Anytime." 

"You  might  go  now,  for  I'm  awfully  anxious 
to  hear  if  she  is  all  right.  What's  the  time? 
Two — yes — if  you  go  now  you  will  get  there 
about  four." 

"Highgate?" 

"Yes — 'The  Laurels,'  John's  Road.  Have 
you  any  money  ? " 

"  Unfortunately  I  am  rather  unprovided  with 
the  necessary " 

"Wait." 

Leavesley  went  to  a  little  jug  on  the  mantel 
and  turned  the  contents  of  it  into  his  hand. 

"  Here's  five  shillings  ;  will  that  be  enough  ?  " 

"  Ample." 

"Now  go,  like  a  good  fellow,  and  do  come 
back  here  straight." 

"  As  an  arrow." 

"  Don't  say  anything  about  my  letter." 

"  Not  a  word,  not  a  word." 


250  FANNY   LAMBERT 

Mr  Verneede  departed,  and  the  painter  went 
on  with  his  painting,  feeling  very  much  as  Noah 
must  have  felt  when  the  dove  flew  out  of  the 
Ark. 

Mr  Verneede.  first  made  straight  for  his 
lodgings.  He  inhabited  a  top-floor  back  in 
Maple  Street,  a  little  street  leading  out  of  the 
King's  Road. 

Here  he  blacked  his  boots,  put  bear's  grease 
on  his  hair,  and  assumed  a  frock-coat  a  shade 
more  respectable  than  the  one  he  usually  wore. 
Then,  with  his  coat  tightly  buttoned,  his  best 
hat  on  his  head,  and  his  umbrella  under  his 
arm,  he  made  off  on  his  errand  revolving  in 
his  wonderful  mind  the  forthcoming  interview. 
To  assist  thought,  he  turned  into  the  four-ale 
bar  of  the  "Spotted  Dog."  Here  stood  a 
woman  with  a  baby  in  her  arms,  a  regular 
customer,  who  was  explaining  domestic  troubles 
to  the  sympathetic  barmaid.  Seeing  Verneede 
seated  with  his  ale  before  him,  she  included 
him  in  her  audience.  Half  an  hour  later  the 
old  gentleman,  having  given  much  advice  on 
the  rearing  of  babies  and  management  of 
husbands,  emerged  from  the  "Spotted  Dog" 
slightly  flushed  and  entirely  happy. 


\   SURPRISE   VISIT  251 

It  seemed  so  much  pleasanter  and  cooler  to 
enter  a  public  house  than  an  omnibus,  that  the 
"  King's  Arms,"  where  the  omnibuses  stood, 

o 

swallowed  him  easily.  Here  an  anarchistical 
house-painter,  who  was  destructing  the  British 
Empire,  included  him  in  his  remarks ;  and 
it  was,  somehow,  nearly  five  o'clock  before 
he  left  the  "King's  Anns"  more  flushed  and 
most  entirely  happy,  and  took  an  omnibus  for 
Hammersmith. 

At  nine  o'clock  he  was  wandering  about 
Hammersmith  asking  people  to  direct  him  to 
"The  Hollies"  in  James'  Road;  at  eleven 
he  was  criticising  the  London  County  Council 
in  a  bar-room  somewhere  in  Shepherd's  Bush, 
but  it  might  have  been  in  Paris  or  Berlin, 
Vienna  or  Madrid,  for  all  he  knew  or  cared. 


CHAPTER  VI 

A   SURPRISE   VISIT 

VERNEEDE  having  departed  on  his  mission, 
Leavesley  resumed  his  work  with  a  feeling  of 
relief. 


252  FANNY   LAMBERT 

He  had  done  something.  There  is  nothing 
that  strains  the  mind  so  much  as  sitting 
waiting  with  hands  folded,  so  to  speak,  doing 
nothing. 

When  Noah  closed  the  trap-door  of  the 
Ark  having  let  forth  the  dove,  he  no  doubt 
followed  its  flight  with  his  mind's  eye — here 
flitting  over  wastes  of  water,  here  perched 
on  the  island  he  desired. 

Even  so  Leavesley,  as  he  worked,  followed 
the  flight  of  Verneede  towards  the  object  of 
his  desires. 

Leavesley  was  one  of  those  unhappy  people 
who  meet  their  pleasures  and  their  troubles 
half-way.  He  was  an  imaginative  man, 
moving  in  a  most  unimaginative  world,  and 
as  a  result  he  was  always  knocking  his  nose 
against  the  concrete.  Needless  to  say,  his 
forecasts  were  nearly  always  wrong.  If  he 
opened  a  letter  thinking  it  contained  a  bill, 
it,  ten  to  one,  enclosed  a  theatre  ticket  or  a 
cheque,  and  if  he  expected  a  cheque,  fifty 
to  one  he  received  a  bill. 

This  temperament,  however,  sometimes  has 
its  advantages,  for  he  was  sitting  now  quite 
contentedly  painting  and  getting  on  with  his 


A   SURPRISE   VISIT  253 

picture,  whilst  Mr  Verneede  was  sitting  quite 
contentedly  in  the  bar  of  the  "  Spotted 
Dog." 

He  was  also  smoking  furiously  with  all 
the  windows  shut.  To  the  artistic  tempera- 
ment at  times  comes  moods,  when  it  shuts 
all  the  windows,  excluding  noise  and  air, 
lights  the  foulest  old  pipe  it  can  find,  and, 
to  use  a  good  old  public  school  term,  "  fugs." 

Suddenly  he  stopped  work,  half-sprang  to 
his  feet,  palette  in  one  hand,  pipe  in  the 
other.  A  footstep  was  on  the  landing,  a 
girl's  footstep — it  was  her  ! 

The  door  opened,  and  his  aunt  stood  before 
him. 

Since  the  other  night  when  Fanny  had 
dined  with  them,  Miss  Hancock  had  been 
much  exercised  in  her  mind. 

How  on  earth  had  Leavesley  known  of  the 
affair?  Had  he  referred  to  Fanny  when  he 
made  that  mysterious  remark  about  his  uncle 
and  a  girl,  or  was  there  another  girl  ?  She 
had  an  axiom  that  when  a  man  once  begins 

o 

to  make  a  fool  of  himself  he  doesn't  know 
where  to  stop ;  she  had  also  a  strong  dash 
of  her  nephew's  imaginative  temperament. 


254  FANNY   LAMBERT 

Fanny  had  troubled  her  at  first ;  seraglios 
were  now  rising  in  her  mental  landscape. 
She  had  an  intuition  that  her  brother  had 
broken  the  ice  as  regards  the  other  sex,  and 
a  dreadful  fear  that  now  he  had  broken  the 
ice  he  was  going  to  bathe. 

"  Whew ! "  said  Miss  Hancock,  waving  her 
parasol  before  her  to  dispel  the  clouds  of 
smoke. 

"Aunt!" 

"  For  goodness  sake,  open  the  window. 
Open  something — achu ! — do  you  live  in  this 
atmosphere  ?  " 

Leavesley  opened  wide  the  windows,  tapped 
the  ashes  of  his  pipe  out  on  a  sill,  and  turned 
to  his  aunt,  who  had  taken  her  seat  in  an 
uncomfortable  manner  on  a  most  comfortable 
armchair. 

"  This  is  an  unexpected  pleasure ! " 

Miss  Hancock  made  no  reply.  It  was  the 
first  time  she  had  been  in  the  studio,  the 
first  time  she  had  been  in  any  studio. 

She  noticed  the  dust  and  the  litter.  The 
place  was,  in  fact,  extraordinarily  untidy,  for 
Belinda,  engaged  just  now  in  the  fascination 
of  a  policeman,  had  scarcely  time  even  for 


A   SURPRISE   VISIT  255 

such  ordinary  household  duties  as  making 
beds  without  turning  the  mattresses,  and 
flinging  eggs  into  frying  pans  full  of  hot 
grease. 

As  fate  would  have  it,  or  curiosity  rather, 
Belinda  at  this  moment  entered  the  studio, 
attired  in  a  sprigged  cotton  gown  four  inches 
shorter  in  front  than  behind  as  if  to  display 
to  their  full  a  pair  of  wonderful  feet  shod  in 
list  slippers.  Her  front  hair  was  bound  in 
Hindes'  hair-binders  tight  down  to  her  head, 
displaying  a  protruberant  forehead  that  seemed 
to  have  been  polished.  It  was  the  only 
thing  polished  about  Belinda,  and  she  made 
a  not  altogether  pleasing  picture  as  she  slunk 
into  the  studio  to  "look  for  something,"  but 
in  reality  to  take  stock  of  the  visitor. 

It  would  have  been  much  happier  for  her 
if  she  had  stayed  away. 

She  was  slinking  out  again  when  Miss 
Hancock,  who  had  been  following  her  every 
movement,  said : 

"  Stop,  please !  " 

Belinda,  with  her  hand  on  the  door  handle, 
faced  round. 

C1  Are  you  the  servant  here  ?  " 


256  FANNY   LAMBERT 

"  Yus  "—sulkily. 

"And  I  suppose  you  are  paid  to  keep  this 
room  in  order.  Where's  your  mistress  ? " 

"She's  in  Margate,"  cut  in  Leavesley. 

"  Stop  twiddling  that  door  handle,"  said 
Miss  Hancock,  entirely  ignoring  Leavesley, 
"and  attend  to  what  I'm  saying.  If  you  are 
paid  to  keep  this  room  in  order  you  are 
defrauding  your  mistress,  and  girls  who  de- 
fraud their  mistresses  end  in  something  worse. 
Go,  get  a  duster." 

The  feelings  of  Cruiser,  when  he  first  came 
under  the  hands  of  Mr  Rarey,  may  have 
been  comparable  to  the  feelings  of  Belinda 
before  this  servant-tamer. 

She  recognised  a  mistress,  but  she  did 
not  give  in  at  once.  She  stood  looking 
sulkily  from  Leavesley  to  his  aunt,  and  from 
his  aunt  to  Leavesley. 

Miss  Hancock  had  no  legal  power  over 
her,  it  was  all  moral. 

"  Go,  get  a  duster  and  a  broom,"  cried 
Miss  Hancock,  stamping  her  foot. 

One  second  more  the  animal  stood  in  mute 
rebellion,  then  it  went  off  and  got  the  duster 
and  the  broom. 


A   SURPRISE   VISIT  257 

"  Take  up  that  strip  of  carpet,"  commanded 
Mr  Leavesley's  aunt,  when  the  duster  and  the 
broom  returned  in  the  hands  of  the  animal. 
"  Whew !  Throw  it  outside  the  door  and 
beat  it  in  the  back  garden,  if  you  have  such 
a  thing — burn  it  if  you  haven't.  Give  me  the 
duster.  Now  sweep  the  floor,  whilst  I  do 
these  shelves ;  Frank,  put  those  books  in 
a  heap.  Whew !  does  no  one  ever  clean 
this  place  ?  Ha !  what  are  you  doing  sweep- 
ing under  the  couch?  Pull  out  that  couch. 
Mercy!!!" 

Under  the  couch  there  was  a  heap  of 
miscellaneous  things — empty  cigarette  tins,  an 
empty  beer  bottle,  an  empty  whisky  bottle, 
half  a  pack  of  cards,  a  dress  tie,  a  glove, 
"The  Three  Musketeers,"  and  an  old  waist- 
coat— and  dust,  mounds  of  dust. 

Miss  Hancock  looked  at  this.  Like  the 
coster  who  looked  back  along  the  City  road 
to  see  the  way  strewn  with  cabbages,  lettuces, 
and  onions  which  had  leaked  from  his  faulty 
barrow,  language  was  quite  inadequate  to 
express  her  feelings. 

"  Go,  get  a  dust  -  pan,"  she  said  at  last, 
"and  a  basket.  Be  quick  about  it.  Mercy!!!" 

By  the  time  the  place  was  in  order,  Belinda, 
R 


258  FANNY   LAMBERT 

to  Leavesley's  astonishment,  had  become  trans- 
formed from  a  sulky-looking  slattern  to  a  semi- 
respectable-looking  servant  girl. 

"  That  will  do,"  said  Miss  Hancock  in  a 
magisterial  voice,  when  the  last  consignment  of 
rubbish  had  been  removed.  "  Now,  you  can 

.2°-" 

As  the  boar  sharpens  its  tusks  against  a  tree 

preparatory  to  using  them  to  carve  human 
flesh,  so  had  Miss  Hancock  sharpened  the 
tusks  of  her  temper  upon  Belinda. 

"  No  thanks,  I  dont  want  any  tea,"  she  said, 
replying  to  Leavesley's  invitation.  "  I've  come 
to  ask  you  for  an  explanation." 

"What  of?" 

"  What  you  said  the  other  day." 

"  What  did  I  say  the  other  day  ?  " 

"  About  your  uncle." 

"  About  my  uncle  ?  "  he  replied,  wrinkling  his 
forehead.  He  couldn't  for  the  life  of  him  think 
what  she  was  driving  at ;  he  had  quite  forgotten 
his  Parthian  remark  about  the  "  girl,"  the  thing 
had  no  root  in  his  mind — a  bubble  made  of 
words  that  had  risen  to  the  surface  of  his 
mind,  burst,  and  been  forgotten. 

Miss  Hancock  had  her  own  way  of  dealing 


A    SURPRISE   VISIT  259 

with  hypocrites.  "  Well,  we  will  say  no  more 
about  your  uncle.  How  about  Miss  Lambert  ?  " 
Leavesley  made  a  little  spring  from  his  chair, 
as  if  some  one  had  stuck  a  pin  into  him,  and 
changed  colour  violently. 

"  How — what   do    you    know    about    Miss 

Lambert  ? " 

"  I  know  all  about  it,"  said  Miss  Hancock 
grimly.  She  was  so  very  clever  that  she  had 
got  hold  of  the  wrong  end  of  the  stick  entirely, 
as  very  clever  people  sometimes  do.  If  she 
had  come  to  him  frankly  she  would  have  found 
out  that  he  was  Fanny's  lover,  and  not  James 
Hancock's  confidant  and  go-between,  as  she 
now  felt  sure  he  was. 

Unhappy  Leavesley !  his  love  affair  with 
Fanny  seemed  destined  to  be  mulled  by  every 
one  who  had  a  hand  in  it. 

"  If  you  know  all  about  it,"  he  said  sulkily, 
"  that  ends  the  matter." 
"  Unfortunately  it  doesn't." 
"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 
"  It's  dreadful,"  said  Miss  Hancock,  appar- 
ently   addressing    a    tobacco    jar    that    stood 
on   the  table,  "it's  dreadful  to    watch  a   man 
consciously   and    deliberately   making    a   fool 


260  FANNY   LAMBERT 

of  himself — to  sit  by  and  watch  it,  and  not  be 
able  to  move  a  hand." 

Of  course  he  thought  she  referred  to  himself, 
but  he  was  so  accustomed  to  hear  his  aunt 
calling  people  fools  that  her  remarks  did  not 
ruffle  him. 

"  But  what  I  can't  understand  is  this,"  he 
said.  "Who  told  you  about  Fanny — I  mean 
Miss  Lambert?" 

"  Fanny !  "  said  the  lady  with  a  sniff.  "  You 
call  her  Fanny  ?  " 

"Of  course." 

"Of  course!" 

"Why  not?" 

"Why  not!" 

"Yes." 

"  The  world  has  altered  since  I  was  a  girl, 
that's  all."  Then  with  deep  sarcasm — "  Does 
your  uncle  know  that  you  call  her  Fanny  ? " 

"  Of  course  not ;  I've  never  told  him." 

Miss  Hancock  stared  at  him  stonily,  then  she 
spoke.  "  Are  you  in  love  with  her  too?  "  she 
asked. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  '  too  '  ?  " 

"  Frank  Leavesley,  don't  shuffle  and  pre- 
varicate. Are  you  in  love  with  her?" 


A   SURPRISE   VISIT  261 

"  Of  course  I  am  ;  every  one  who  meets  her 
must  love  her.  I  believe  old  Verneede  is  in 
love  with  her.  Love  with  her!  I'd  lay  my  life 
down  for  her,  but  it's  hopeless — hopeless 

"  I  trust  so  indeed,"  replied  Miss  Hancock. 

For  a  minute  he  thought  his  aunt  must  be 
a  little  bit  mad :  this  was  more  than  her 
ordinary  contrariness  ;  then  he  went  back  to 
his  original  question. 

"  I  want  to  know  who  told  you  about 
this." 

"  Bridge  water,  for  one,"  replied  Miss 
Hancock. 

"Bridge  water!" 

"  Yes,    Bridgewater." 

"  But  he  knows  nothing  about  it,"  cried 
Leavesley.  "  He  couldn't  have  told  you." 

"  He  told  me  everything — Miss  Lambert's 
visit  to  the  Zoological  Gardens,  her " 

"  You  may  as  well  be  exact  whilst  you  are 
about  it ;  it  wasn't  the  Zoological  Gardens,  it 
was  Epping  Forest." 

"  Frank  Leavesley,  a  lie  is  bad  enough,  but 
a  silly  lie  is  much  worse.  Miss  Lambert 
herself  told  me  it  was  the  Zoological  Gardens  ; 
perhaps  she  has  been  to  Epping  Forest  as 


262  FANNY   LAMBERT 

well ;  perhaps  next  it  will  be  a  visit  to  Paris. 
/  wash  my  hands  of  the  affair." 

"  You  have  seen  Miss  Lambert  ? " 

"  No  matter  what  I  have  seen.  I  have  seen 
enough  to  make  me  open  my  eyes — and  shut 
them  again." 

Leavesley  was  now  fuming  about  the  studio. 
What  on  earth  had  possessed  Bridgewater? 
How  on  earth  had  he  found  out  about  the 
affair,  and  how  had  he  come  to  twist  Epping 
Forest  into  the  Zoological  Gardens  ? 

" and  shut  them  again,"  resumed  Miss 

Hancock.  "  However,  it  is  none  of  my 
business,  but  if  there  is  such  a  thing  as 
honour  you  ought,  in  my  humble  opinion,  to 
go  to  your  uncle  and  tell  him  the  state  of 
your  feelings  towards  Miss  Lambert." 

"I'll  go,"  said  Leavesley — "go  to  the  office 
to-day ;  and  if  uncle  chooses  to  keep  that 
antiquated  liar  of  a  Bridgewater  in  his  service 
any  longer  after  what  I  tell  him,  it  will  be 
his  own  look-out." 

Miss  Hancock  had  not  reckoned  on  this,  she 
looked  uncomfortable. 

"  Bridgewater  is  an  honourable  man,  who 
has  acted  for  the  best." 


THE  UNEXPLAINED  263 

"  I  know,  "said  Leavesley.  "  Now,  I  must 
go  out ;  I  have  some  business.  Are  you  sure 
you  won't  have  some  tea?" 

"  No  tea,  thank  you,"  replied  Miss  Hancock, 
rising  to  depart. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE   UNEXPLAINED 

IT  was  just  as  well  she  refused  the  tea,  for 
there  was  no  one  to  make  it.  She  had  hypno- 
tised Belinda,  and  Belinda  coming  out  of  the 
hypnotic  state  was  having  hysterical  convulsions 
in  the  kitchen,  assisted  by  the  charwoman. 

"  Belinda,"  cried  Leavesley  down  the  kitchen 
stairs,  he  had  rung  his  bell  vainly,  "are  you 
there?" 

"  She's  hill,  sir,"  replied  a  hoarse  voice, 
"  I'm  a-lookin'  arter  her." 

"  Oh,  well,  if  a  Mr  Verneede  calls,  will  you 
ask  him  to  wait  for  me  ?  I'll  be  back  soon." 

"  Yessir." 

He   left   the   house   and  proceeded   as   fast 


264  FANNY   LAMBERT 

as  omnibuses  could  take  him  to  Southampton 
Row. 

Bridgewater  was  out,  but  Mr  Wolf,  the 
second  in  command,  ushered  him  into  Hancock's 
room. 

"Well,"  said  Hancock,  who  was  writing  a 
letter — "  Oh,  it's  you.  Sit  down,  sit  down  for 
a  minute." 

He  went  on  with  his  letter,  and  Leavesley 
took  his  seat  and  sat  in  a  simmering  state 
listening  to  the  squeaking  of  the  quill  pen,  and 
framing  in  his  mind  indictments  against 
Bridgewater. 

If  he  had  been  in  a  state  of  mind  to  absorb 
details  he  might  have  noticed  that  his  uncle 
was  looking  younger  and  brighter.  But  the 
youthfulness  or  brightness  of  Mr  Hancock 
were  indifferent  to  him  absorbed  as  he  was 
with  his  own  thoughts. 

"  Well,"  said  Hancock,  finishing  his  letter 
with  a  flourish  and  leaning  back  in  his  chair. 

"Aunt  came  to  see  me  to-day,"  said 
Leavesley,  "and  I  came  on  here  at  once.  It's 
most  disgraceful." 

"What?" 

"  Bridgewater.     You've  got  a  man  in  your 


THE   UNEXPLAINED  265 

office  who  is  not  to  be  trusted,  a  mischief- 
making  old " 

"  Dear  me,  what's  all  this  ?  A  man  in  the  office 
not  to  be  trusted  ?  To  whom  do  you  refer  ?  " 

"  Bridgewater." 

"  Bridgewater  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  What  has  he  been  doing  ?  " 

"  Doing !  He  has  been  sneaking  round  to 
my  aunt  telling  tales  about  a  lady ;  that's  what 
he  has  been  doing." 

"What  lady?" 

"  A  Miss  Lambert.  He  told  her  she  had 
been  to  the  Zoological  Gardens  with " 

Hancock  raised  his  hand.  "  Don't  go  on," 
he  said,  "  I  know  it  all." 

"You  know  it  all?" 

"Yes,  and  I  have  given  Bridgewater  a  right 
good  dressing  down — meddling  old  stupid !  " 

Leavesley  was  greatly  taken  back  at  this. 

"  It's  not  his  fault,"  continued  Hancock. 
"  It's  your  aunt's  fault ;  she  put  him  on  to  spy. 
However,  it's  rather  a  delicate  subject,  and 
we  won't  pursue  it,  but" — suddenly  and  in  a 
friendly  tone — "  I  take  it  very  kindly  of  you 
to  come  round  and  tell  me  this." 


266  FANNY   LAMBERT 

"  I  thought  I'd  better  come,"  said  the  young 
man;  "besides,  the  thing  put  me  in  such  a 
wax.  Of  course,  if  he  was  egged  on  by 
aunt,  it's  not  so  much  his  fault." 

"  I  take  it  very  kindly  of  you,  and  we'll 
say  no  more  about  it."  He  lapsed  into 
meditation,  and  Leavesley  sat  filled  with  a 
vague  feeling  of  surprise. 

Every  one  seemed  a  little  out  of  the  ordinary 
to-day.  Why  on  earth  did  his  uncle  take  this 
news  so  very  kindly  ? 

"  I've  been  thinking,"  said  Hancock  suddenly 

— then  abruptly :    "  How   are   you  financially, 

-\ » 
now  r 

"  Oh,  pretty  bad.  I  had  to  sell  a  picture 
of  John  the  Baptist  for  five  pounds  the  other 
day  ;  it  was  worth  twenty." 

"  When  your  mother  married  your  father," 
said  Hancock,  leaning  back  in  his  chair,  "  she 
flew  in  the  face  of  her  family.  He  was 
penniless  and  a  painter." 

"  I  don't  want  to  hear  anything  against 
my  father,"  said  Leavesley  tartly.  "Yes,  he 
was  penniless  and  a  painter,  and  she  married 
him,  and  I'm  glad  she  did.  She  loved  him, 
that  was  quite  enough." 


THE   UNEXPLAINED  267 

"  If  you  will  excuse  me,"  said  Hancock, 
"  I  was  going  to  say  nothing  against  your 
father.  I  think  a  love-match — er — um — well, 
no  matter.  I  am  only  stating  the  facts.  She 
flew  in  the  face  of  her  family,  and  as  a  result 
the  money  that  might  have  been  hers,  went 
to  your  aunt." 

"  And  a  nice  use  she  makes  of  it." 
"  The  hundred  a  year  left  you  by  your 
parents,"  resumed  the  lawyer,  ignoring  this 
reply,  "is,  I  admit,  a  pittance.  I  offered  you, 
however,  as  the  head  of  the  family,  and  feeling 
that  your  mother  had  not  received  exactly 
justice,  I  offered  you  the  choice  of  a  pro- 
fession. I  offered  to  take  you  into  this  office. 
You  refused,  preferring  to  be  a  painter.  Now, 
I  am  not  stingy,  but  I  have  seen  much  of 
the  world,  and  in  my  experience,  the  less 
money  a  young  man  has  in  starting  in  life, 
the  more  likely  is  he  to  arrive  at  the  top  of 
the  tree.  You  have,  however,  now  started ;  I 
have  been  making  enquiries,  and  you  seem  to 
be  working,  and  I  am  pleased  with  you  for 
two  things.  Firstly,  when  you  came  to  me 
the  other  day  for  money  for  a — foolish  purpose 
you  didn't  lie  over  the  matter  and  say  you 


268  FANNY   LAMBERT 

wanted  the  money  for  your  landlady,  as  nine 
out  of  ten  young  men  would  have  done. 
Secondly,  for  coming  to  me  to-day  and  appris- 
ing me  of  the  unpleasant  intelligence,  to  which 
we  will  not  again  refer.  I  appreciate  loyalty." 

He  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket  and  pulled 
out  his  note-case. 

"  What's  your  present  liabilities  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  owe  about  ten  pounds." 

"  Sure  that's  all  ?  " 

"Of  course,  I'd  tell  you  if  it  was  more;  it's 
somewhere  about  that." 

Hancock  took  a  five-pound  note  and  a  ten- 
pound  note  out  of  the  note-case,  looked  at 
them  both,  and  then  put  the  ten-pound  note 
back. 

11  I'm  going  to  lend  you  five  pounds,"  he 
said.  "It  will  serve  for  present  expenses, 
and  I  expect  you  to  pay  me  it  back  before 
the  end  of  the  week."  He  held  out  the 
note. 

"  You  had  better  keep  it,"  said  his  nephew, 
"for  there's  not  the  remotest  chance  of  my 
paying  you  before  the  end  of  the  week." 

"Take  the  note,"  said  Hancock  testily, 
"  and  don't  keep  me  holding  it  out  all  day ; 


THE   AMBASSADOR'S   RETURN  269 

you  don't  know  what  may  happen  in  the 
course  of  a  week.  Take  the  note." 

"Well,  I'll  take  it  if  you  will  have  it  so; 
and  I'll  pay  you  back  some  time  if  I  don't  this 
week." 

"Now  good  day,"  said  Hancock.  "I'm 
busy." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

RETURN    OF   THE   AMBASSADOR 

HE    left  the  office  feeling   depressed.     Spent 
anger  generally  leaves  depression  behind  it. 

Hancock's  admission  that  his  mother  had 
been  treated  harshly  by  her  family,  though  a 
well-known  fact  to  him,  did  not  decrease  his 
gloom.  He  considered  the  thousands  that 
ought  to  have  fallen  to  her  share,  that  had 
fallen  to  the  share  of  Patience  instead.  For 
a  second  a  wild  hatred  of  the  Hancocks  and 
all  their  ways  filled  his  breast,  and  he  felt  an 
inclination  to  take  the  five-pound  note  from 
his  pocket,  roll  it  into  a  ball,  and  fling  it  into 
the  gutter.  Not  being  a  lunatic,  he  didn't. 


270  FANNY  LAMBERT 

He  went  and  dined  instead,  though  it  was 
only  a  little  after  five,  and  having  dined  he 
went  back  to  the  studio. 

Verneede  had  not  yet  returned.  At  ten 
o'clock  Verneede  had  not  yet  returned.  Mid- 
night struck. 

"Can  he  be  staying  there  the  night?" 
thought  Leavesley,  who  had  gone  to  bed  with 
a  novel  and  a  pipe  and  an  ear,  so  to  say,  on 
every  footstep  ascending  the  stairs. 

People  often  stayed  the  night  at  the 
Lamberts'  drinking  punch  and  playing  cards ; 
he  had  done  so  himself  once. 

He  woke  at  seven  and  dressed,  and  at  eight 
he  was  standing  before  the  house  of  Verneede 
in  Maple  Street. 

"  Hin!"  said  the  landlady,  "  I  should  think 
he  was  hin  ;  and  thankful  he  ought  to  be  he's 
not  hin  the  police  station." 

"  Good  gracious,  what  has  happened  ?  " 

"  Woke  us  up  at  two  in  the  mornin'  hangin* 
like  a  coal  sack  over  the  railin's ;  might 
a-tumbled  into  the  airy  and  broke  his  neck. 
Disgraceful,  I  call  it!" 

"  May  I  go  up  and  see  him  ?  " 

"  Yus,  you  can  go  up — he's  in  the  top  floor 


THE   AMBASSADOR'S   RETURN  271 

back — trouble  enough  we  had  to  get  him 
there." 

Leavesley  went  up  to  the  top  floor  back. 
The  unfortunate  Verneede  was  in  bed,  trying 
to  remember  things.  He  had  brought  his 
umbrella  home  safely,  but  in  the  pockets  of 
his  clothes,  after  diligent  search  in  the  grey 
dawn,  he  had  been  able  to  discover  only  one 
halfpenny.  To  make  up  for  this  deficiency, 
his  head  was  swelled  up  till  it  felt  like  a 
pumpkin. 

"Good  gracious,  Verneede,"  cried  Leavesley, 
staring  at  him,  "what  on  earth  has  happened 
to  you  ? 

"A  fit,  I  think,"  said  Verneede. 

"  Did  you  go  to  Highgate  ?  " 

"Of  course  —  of  course;  pray,  my  dear 
Leavesley,  hand  me  the  washing  jug." 

He  began  to  drink  from  the  jug. 

"  Stop ! "  said  Leavesley,  "  you'll  burst ! " 

"  I'm  better  now,"  said  Mr  Verneede, 
placing  the  jug,  half  empty,  on  the  floor,  and 
passing  his  hand  across  his  brow. 

"Then  go  on  and  tell  me  all  about  it." 

Verneede  had  no  recollection  of  anything 
at  all  save  a  few  more  or  less  unpleasant 


272  FANNY   LAMBERT 

incidents.  He  remembered  the  "  Spotted 
Dog,"  the  "King's  Arms";  he  remembered 
streets ;  he  remembered  being  turned  out  of 
somewhere. 

"  Tell  you  about  what  ?  " 

"  Good  gracious  —  about  the  Lamberts, 
of  course.  What  time  did  you  get  there  ? " 

"  Half- past  two,  I  think." 

"  You  couldn't ;  you  only  left  the  studio  at 
two." 

"  Half-past  four,  I  mean ;  yes,  it  was  half- 
past  four." 

"  When  did  you  leave  ?  " 

Verneede  scratched  his  head. 

"  Six." 

"You  saw  Miss  Lambert?" 

"Yes." 

"  Look  here,  Verneede,  you  were  all  right 
when  you  got  there,  I  hope  ? " 

"  Perfectly,  absolutely." 

"  What  did  you  talk  about  ? " 

"  We  talked  of  various  topics." 

"  Did  you  mention  my  name  ?  " 

"  Ah  yes,"  said  Verneede,  "  I  told  her  what 
you  said." 

"What?" 

"  About  your  going  to  Australia." 


THE   AMBASSADOR'S   RETURN  273 

"  America,  you  owl,"  cried  Leavesley. 

"America,  I  mean — America,  of  course — 
America." 

"  What  did  she  say  ?  " 

"  She  said — she  hoped  you'd  have  a  fine 
voyage,  that  the  weather  would  be  fine,  in 
short,  or  words  to  that  effect." 

Leavesley  sighed. 

"  Was  that  all  she  said  ?  " 

"Absolutely." 

"  Did  you  say  anything  about  the  letter  I 
wrote  her  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  I  remembered  that." 

"  But  I  told  you  not." 

"It  escaped  me,"  said  Verneede  weakly. 

"  What  did  she  say  ?  " 

"  She  said  it  didn't  matter ;  at  least  that 
is  what  I  gathered  from  her." 

"  How  do  you  mean  gathered  from  her?" 

"  From  her  manner." 

Leavesley  sighed  again,  and  Verneede 
leaned  back  on  his  pillow.  He  did  not 
know  in  the  least  whether  he  had  been  at 
Lamberts'  or  not — he  hoped  he  hadn't. 


PART  V 
CHAPTER   I 

GOUT 

SINCE  her  visit  to  Leavesley  Miss  Hancock  felt 
certain  that  her  system  of  petty  espionage  had 
been  discovered :  the  question  remained  as  to 
what  course  her  brother  would  take.  He  had 
as  yet  said  nothing. 

One  fact  stood  before  her  very  plainly  :  his  in- 
fatuation for  Miss  Lambert.  She  had  examined 
Fanny  very  attentively,  and  despite  the  fact  that 
she  had  plotted  and  planned  for  years  to  keep 
her  brother  single,  had  he  at  that  moment 
entered  the  room  with  the  news  that  he  was 
engaged  to  be  married  to  George  Lambert's 
daughter,  she  would  have  received  it  not 
altogether  as  a  blow.  In  her  lifelong  opposi- 
tion to  his  marrying,  she  had  always  figured 
his  possible  wife  as  a  woman  who  would  oust 
her,  but  Fanny  was  totally  unlike  all  other 

974 


GOUT  275 

girls  she  had  ever  met — very  different  from 
Miss  Wilkinson  and  the  other  middle-class 
young  women,  with  minds  of  their  own,  from 
whom  she  had  fortunately  or  unfortunately 
guarded  her  brother.  There  were  new 
possibilities  about  Fanny.  She  was  so  soft 
and  so  charmingly  irresponsible  that  the 
idea  of  hectoring,  ordering,  directing  and 
generally  sitting  upon  her  was  equivalent  to 
the  idea  of  a  new  pleasure  in  life.  To  order, 
to  put  straight,  to  admonish  were  functions 
as  necessary  to  Miss  Hancock's  being  as  ex- 
cretion or  respiration ;  a  careless  housemaid 
to  correct,  or  a  shiftless  friend  to  advise,  called 
these  functions  into  play  ;  and  the  process,  how- 
ever it  affected  the  housemaid  or  the  friend,  left 
Miss  Hancock  a  healthier  and  happier  woman. 

The  Almighty,  who,  however  we  may  look 
at  the  fact,  made  the  fly  to  be  the  intimate 
companion  of  the  spider,  seemed  in  the  con- 
struction of  Miss  Lambert  to  have  had  the 
vital  requirements  of  Miss  Hancock  decidedly 
in  view. 

She  had  almost  begun  to  form  plans  as  to 
Fanny's  dress  allowance,  in  the  event  of  her 
marriage — how  it  should  be  spent;  her  hair, 


276  FANNY   LAMBERT 

how  it  should  be  dressed  ;  and  her  life,  how 
it  should  be  generally  made  a  conglomeration 
of  petty  miseries. 

On  the  night  before  the  day  Bevan  left 
for  Sussex  Mr  Hancock  and  his  great  toe 
had  a  conversation.  What  his  right  great 
toe  said  to  Mr  Hancock  that  night  I  will 
report  very  shortly  for  the  benefit  of  elderly 
gentlemen  in  general ;  Anacreon  has  said  the 
thing  much  better  in  verse,  but  verse  is  out 
of  date.  Said  the  right  great  toe  of  Mr 
Hancock  in  a  monologue  punctuated  with  the 
stabs  of  a  stiletto  : 

"How  old  are  you ?  Sixty-three ?  (stab), 
that's  what  you  say,  but  you  know  very  well 
you  were  born  sixty-five  years  and  six  months 
ago.  Wake  up  (stab,  stab),  you  must  not  go  to 
sleep.  Sixty-five — five  years  more  and  you  will 
be  seventy ;  fifteeen  years  more  and  you'll  be 
eighty,  and  you  are  in  love  (stab,  stab,  stab). 
///  teach  you  to  eat  sweet  cakes  and  ice 
creams  ;  I'll  (stab)  teach  you  to  drink  Burgundy. 
And  you  dared  to  call  me  Arthritic  Rheumatism 
the  other  night,  you  (stab)  dared !  Now,  go  to 
sleep  (stab,  stab)  .  .  .  wake  up  again,  I  want 
to  speak  to  you,"  etc.,  etc.,  etc. 


GOUT  277 

Gout  talks  to  one  very  like  a  woman  :  you 
cannot  reply  to  it,  it  simply  talks  on. 

At  eight  o'clock  next  morning,  when  Miss 
Hancock  left  her  room,  Boffins  informed  her 
that  her  brother  was  ill  and  wished  to  see  her. 

"  I'm  all  right,"  said  James,  who  was  lying  in 
bed  with  the  sheets  up  to  his  nose,  "I'm  all 
right — for  heaven's  sake,  don't  fidget  with  that 
window  blind — I  want  my  letters  brought  up  ; 
shan't  go  to  the  office  to-day.  You  can  send 
round  and  tell  Bridgewater  to  call,  and  send 
for  Carter,  I've  got  a  touch  of  this  Arthritic 
Rheumatism  (ow !) — do  ask  that  servant  to  make 
less  row  on  the  stairs.  No,  don't  want  any 
breakfast." 

"  Well,  Hancock,"  said  Dr  Carter,  when 
he  arrived,  "  got  it  again — whew !  There's  a 
foot !  What  have  you  been  eating  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  groaned  the  patient ;  "  it's  worry 
has  done  it,  I  believe." 

"  Now,  don't  talk  nonsense.  What  have  you 
been  eating  and  drinking  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  believe  I  had  an  ice-cream  some 
days  ago,  and — a  cake." 

"An  ice-cream,  and  a  cake,  and  a  glass  of 
port — come,  confess  your  sins." 


278  FANNY   LAMBERT 

"  No,  a  glass  of  Burgundy." 

"An  ice-cream,  and  a  cake,  and  a  glass  of 
Burgundy — well,  you  can  commit  suicide  if 
you  choose,  but  I  can  only  warn  you  of  this 
that  if  you  wish  to  commit  suicide  in  a  most 
unpleasant  manner  you'll  do  such  a  thing 
again." 

"  Dash  it,  Carter — oh,  Lord !  go  gently, 
don't  touch  it  there !  What's  the  good  of 
being  alive  ?  I  remember  the  days  when  I 
could  drink  a  whole  bottle  of  port  without 
turning  a  hair." 

"  I  know — but  you're  not  as  young  as  you 
were  then,  Hancock." 

"  Oh,  do  say  something  original — say  I'm 
getting  old,  and  have  done  with  it ! " 

"  It's  not  your  age  so  much  as  your 
diathesis,"  said  the  pitiless  Carter.  "  It's  un- 
fortunate for  you,  but  there  you  are.  You 
might  be  worse,  every  man  is  born  with  a 
disease.  Yours  is  gout — you  might  be  worse. 
Suppose  you  had  aneurism  ?  Now,  here's  a 
prescription ;  get  it  made  up  at  once.  Thank 
goodness,  you  can  stand  colchicum." 

"How  long  will  it  be  before  I'm  all 
right?" 


GOUT  279 

"  A  week,  at  least." 

"Oh  Lord!" 

"  There,  you  are  grumbling.  Remember, 
my  dear  fellow,  that  living  is  a  business  as  well 
as  lawyering.  Take  life  easy,  and  forget  the 
office  for  a  few  days." 

"  I  wasn't  thinking  of  the  office — give  me 
that  writing-case  over  there ;  I  must  write  a 
letter." 

When  Bridgewater  arrived  half  an  hour 
later,  he  found  his  master  laboriously  address- 
ing an  envelope. 

"  Take  that  and  post  it,  Bridgewater." 

Bridgewater  took  it  and  placed  it  in  his 
pocket  without  looking  at  the  address  upon  it, 
and  having  reported  on  the  morning  letters, 
and  received  advice  as  to  dealing  with  one  or 
two  matters,  ambled  off  on  his  errand. 

That  evening  at  five  o'clock,  when  Patience 
brought  him  up  a  cup  of  tea  and  the  evening 
newspaper,  James,  considerably  eased  by  the 
colchicum  and  pills  of  Dr  Carter,  said  :  "  Put 
the  tea  on  the  table  there,  and  sit  down, 
Patience.  I  wish  to  speak  to  you." 

Patience  sat  down,  took  her  knitting  from 
her  apron  pocket,  and  began  to  knit. 


280  FANNY   LAMBERT 

"  I  have  written  a  letter  to-day  to  Miss 
Lambert." 

"Oh!" 

"An  important  letter,  a  vitally  important 
letter  to  me." 

"You  mean,  James,  that  you  have  written 
a  letter  of  proposal — that  you  intend,  in  short, 
to  marry  Miss  Lambert?" 

"  That  is  precisely  my  meaning." 

"  Humph ! " 

"  Does  the  idea  displease  you  ?  " 

"Yes,  and  no." 

"  Please  explain  what  you  mean  by  '  yes '  and 
'  no ' ;  the  expression  lacks  lucidity,  to  say  the 
least  of  it." 

"  I  mean  that  it  would  be  much  better  for 
you  to  remain  as  you  are ;  but  if  you  do 
intend  to  commit  yourself  in  this  way,  well 
— Miss  Lambert  is  at  least  a  lady." 

The  keen  eye  of  James  examined  his  sister's 
face  as  she  spoke,  and  he  knew  that  what  she 
said  she  meant.  Despite  all  his  tall  talk  to 
Bridgewater  about  sending  his  sister  packing 
her  influence  upon  him  was  very  strong  ;  thirty 
years  of  diffidence  to  her  opinion  in  the  minor 
details  of  life  had  not  passed  without  leaving 


GOUT  281 

their  effect  upon  his  will ;  besides  he,  as  a 
business  man,  had  great  admiration  for  her 
astuteness  and  power  of  dealing  with  things. 
Active  opposition  to  his  matrimonial  plans 
would  not  have  altered  them,  but  it  would 
have  made  him  unhappy. 

"  I  am  glad  you  think  that,"  he  said.  "  Give 
me  the  tea." 

"  Mind,"  said  Miss  Hancock,  as  she  handed 
the  beverage,  "  I  wash  my  hands  of  the 
matter ;  I  think  it  distinctly  unwise,  consider- 
ing your  age,  considering  her  age,  considering 
everything." 

"  Well,  all  that  lies  with  me.  You  will  be 
civil  and  kind  to  her,  Patience  ? " 

"It  is  not  my  habit  to  be  unkind  to  any  one. 
You  have  written,  you  say,  to  her  to-day  ;  you 
wrote  without  consulting  me — the  step  is  taken, 
and  you  must  abide  by  it.  I  hope  it  will 
be  for  your  happiness,  James." 

He  was  watching  her  intently,  and  was 
satisfied. 

"  I  wish,"  he  said,  putting  the  cup  down  on 
the  table  beside  the  bed,  "  I  wish  you  knew 
her  better." 

"  I  will  call  upon  her,"  said  Miss  Hancock, 


282  FANNY   LAMBERT 

counting  her  stitches;  "she  left  her  parasol 
behind  her  last  night,  I  will  take  it  back 
to  her " 

"  No,  don't,  for  goodness  sake! "  said  James, 
the  Lambert  menage  rising  before  him,  and 
also  a  vague  dread  that  his  sister,  despite  her 
appearance  and  words  of  goodwill — or  rather 
semi-goodwill — might  be  traitorously  disposed 
at  heart.  "At  least — I  don't  know — I  suppose 
it  would  be  the  right  thing  to  do." 

"  I  am  not  especially  anxious  to  call,"  said 
Miss  Hancock,  who  had  quite  made  up  her 
mind  to  journey  to  Highgate  on  the  morrow 
and  spy  out  the  land  of  the  Lamberts  for 
herself.  "In  fact,  the  only  possible  day  I 
could  call  would  be  to-morrow  before  noon. 
I  have  a  meeting  in  Sloane  Square  to  attend 
at  five,  and  on  Wednesday  I  have  three 
engagements,  two  on  Thursday  ;  Friday  I  have 
to  spend  the  day  with  Aunt  Catherine  at 
Windsor,  where  I  will  remain  over  Sunday." 

"Well,  call  to-morrow  and  bring  her  back 
her  parasol — oh,  damn!" 

"  James ! " 

"  Oh  Lord !  I  thought  some  one  had  shot  a 
bullet  into  my  foot.  Give  me  the  medicine, 


THE   RESULT  283 

quick,  and  send  round  for  Carter.  I  must 
have  some  opium,  or  I  won't  sleep  a  wink." 

Miss  Hancock  administered  the  dose,  and 
retired  downstairs,  when  she  sent  a  message 
to  Dr  Carter  and  ordered  the  lilac  parasol 
of  Miss  Lambert  to  be  wrapped  in  paper. 
Then  she  sent  a  message  to  the  livery 
stables  to  order  the  hired  brougham,  which 
she  employed  several  times  a  week,  to  be 
in  attendance  at  9.30  the  following  morning, 
to  drive  her  to  Highgate. 

But  next  morning  her  brother  was  so  bad 
that  she  could  not  leave  him.  But  she  called 
one  morning  later  on. 


THE  Lamberts  as  a  rule  took  things  easy  in 
the  morning.  Breakfast  was  at  any  time  that 
was  suitable  to  the  convenience  and  appetite 
of  each  individual ;  the  things  were  generally 
cleared  away  by  half-past  eleven  or  twelve, 
a  matter  of  half  an  hour  lost  in  the  forenoon 


284  FANNY   LAMBERT 

made    little    difference    in    the    revolution    of 
their  day. 

At  half-past  ten  on  the  morning  of  Miss 
Hancock's  descent  upon  her,  Fanny  was 
seated  at  the  breakfast  -  table.  It  was  a 
glorious  day,  filled  with  the  warmth  of 
summer,  the  scent  of  roses,  and  the  songs 
of  birds.  A  letter  from  her  father  lay  beside 
her  on  the  table ;  it  had  arrived  by  the 
morning's  post,  and  contained  great  news — 
good  news,  too,  yet  the  goodness  of  it  was 
not  entirely  reflected  in  her  face. 

The  worries  of  life  were  weighing  on  Miss 
Lambert ;  James  Hancock's  unanswered  letter 
was  not  the  least  of  these.  She  had  laughed 
on  receiving  it,  then  she  had  cried.  She 
had  written  three  or  four  letters  in  answer 
to  it,  beginning,  "  Dear  Mr  Hancock,"  "  My 
dear  Mr  Hancock,"  "Please  do  not  think 
me  horrid,"  etc. ;  but  it  was  no  use,  each  was 
a  distinct  refusal,  yet  each  seemed  either  too 
cold  or  too  warm.  "If  I  send  this,"  said 
she,  "  it  will  hurt  him  horribly,  and  he  has 
been  so  kind.  Oh  dear!  why  will  men  be 
so  stupid,  they  are  so  nice  if  they'd  only  not 
worry  one  to  marry  them.  If  I  send  this 


THE   RESULT  285 

it  will  only  make  him  think  that  I  will  '  have 
him  in  the  end,'  as  Susannah  says.  I  wish 
I  were  a  man." 

Besides  love  troubles  household  worries  had 
their  place.  James  had  gone  very  much  to 
pieces  morally  in  the  last  few  days.  He  had 
taken  diligently  to  drink,  the  writing  and 
quoting  of  poetry,  and  the  pawning  of  un- 
considered  trifles ;  between  the  bouts,  in  those 
fits  of  remorse,  which  may  be  likened  to  the 
Fata  Morgana  of  true  repentance,  he  had 
expended  his  energy  on  all  sorts  of  household 
duties  not  required  of  him  :  winding  up  clocks 
to  their  destruction,  smashing  china,  and 
scattering  coals  all  over  the  place  in  attempts 
to  convey  over-full  scuttles  to  wrong  rooms 
and  in  the  face  of  gravity.  The  effect  upon 
Susannah  of  these  eccentricities  can  be  best 
described  by  the  fact  that  she  lived  now  most 
of  her  time  with  her  apron  over  her  head. 
Housework  under  these  circumstances  became 
a  matter  of  some  difficulty. 

It  wanted  some  twenty  minutes  to  eleven 
when  the  "brougham  with  celluloid  fittings," 
containing  Miss  Hancock,  drove  up  the  drive 
and  stopped  before  "  The  Laurels." 


286  FANNY   LAMBERT 

Miss  Hancock  stepped  out  and  up  the  steps, 
noticing  to  the  minutest  detail  the  neglect 
before  and  around  her. 

She  gave  her  own  characteristic  knock — 
sharp,  decided,  and  business-like ;  she  would 
also  have  given  her  own  characteristic  ring, 
but  that  the  bell  failed  to  respond,  the  pull 
produced  half  a  foot  of  wire  but  no  sound,  and 
the  knob,  when  she  dropped  it,  dangled  wearily 
as  if  to  say,  "Now  see  what  you've  done! 
N'matter,  /  don't  care." 

She  waited  a  little  and  knocked  again  ;  this 
time  came  footsteps  and  the  sound  of  bars 
coming  down  and  bolts  being  unshot,  the 
door  opened  two  inches  on  the  chain,  and  the 
same  pale  blue  eye  and  undecided-coloured 
fringe  that  had  appeared  to  Mr  Be  van,  appeared 
to  the  now  incensed  Miss  Hancock. 

Just  as  the  rabbit  peeping  from  its  burrow 
sees  the  stoat  and  recognises  its  old  ancestral 
enemy,  so  Susannah,  in  Miss  Hancock,  beheld 
the  Foe  of  herself  and  all  her  tribe. 

"  Is  Miss  Lambert  at  home  ? "  asked  the 
visitor  sharply. 

"  Yus,  she's  in." 

"  Then  open  the  door,  I  wish  to  see  her " 


THE   RESULT  287 

Susannah  banged  the  door  to,  not  to  exclude 
the  newcomer,  but  simply  to  release  the  chain, 
Then  she  opened  it  again  wide,  as  if  to  let  in 
an  elephant. 

Susannah  had  not  presented  a  particularly 
spruce  appearance  on  the  day  when  Mr  Be  van 
called  and  we  first  met  her,  but  this  morning 
she  was  simply — awful. 

A  lock  of  hair  like  a  bight  of  half-unravelled 
cable  hung  down  behind  her  ear,  her  old  print 
dress  was  indescribable,  and  she  had,  apparently, 
some  one  else's  slippers  on.  She  had  also  the 
weary  air  of  a  person  who  had  been  watching 
in  a  sick  room  all  the  night. 

Miss  Hancock  took  this  figure  in  with  one 
snapshot  glance ;  also  the  hall  untidied,  the 
floor  undusted,  the  dust-pan  and  brush  laid 
on  the  stairs,  a  trap  for  the  unwary  to  step  on ; 
the  grandfather's  clock  pointing  to  quarter  to 
six,  and  many  other  things  which  I  have  not 
seen  or  noticed,  but  which  were  clear  to  Miss 
Hancock,  just  as  nebulae  and  stars  which, 
looking  in  the  direction  of  I  cannot  see,  are 
clear  to  the  two-foot  reflecting  telescope  of  the 
Yerkes  observatory. 

Susannah  escorted   the   sniffing  visitor  into 


288  FANNY   LAMBERT 

the  library,  dusted  with  her  apron  the  very 
same  chair  she  had  dusted  for  Mr  Bevan, 
said,  "I'll  tell  Miss  Fanny,"  and  left  the 
room,  closing  the  door  with  a  snap  that 
spoke,  not  volumes,  but  just  simply  words. 

The  night  before,  after  the  other  members 
of  the  household  had  retired,  James  had  taken 
it  into  his  head  to  sit  up  in  the  library  over 
the  remains  of  the  fire  left  by  Fanny.  The 
room,  as  a  consequence,  reeked  of  stale  tobacco, 
a  tumbler  stood  on  the  table  convenient  to 
the  armchair.  Needless  to  say,  the  tumbler 
was  empty. 

Miss  Hancock  looked  around  her  at  the 
books,  at  the  carpet,  at  the  general  litter. 
She  came  to  the  mantelpiece  and  touched  it, 
looked  at  the  tip  of  her  gloved  finger  to  assay 
the  quantity  of  dust  to  the  square  millimetre, 
said,  "  Pah ! "  and  sat  down  in  the  armchair. 
A  Pink  Un  of  George  Lambert's  lay  invit- 
ingly near  her  on  the  table  ;  she  picked  it  up, 
glanced  at  the  title,  read  a  joke,  turned 
purple,  and  dropped  the  raciest  of  all  racing 
papers  just  as  Fanny,  fresh  and  charming, 
but  somewhat  bewildered-looking,  entered  the 
room. 


THE   RESULT  289 

Fanny  felt  sure  that  this  visit  of  Miss 
Hancock's  had  something  to  do  with  the 
letter  of  her  brother's.  She  was  relieved 
when  her  visitor,  after  extending  a  hand 
emotionless  and  chill  as  the  fin  of  a  turtle, 
said : 

"  I  had  some  business  in  Highgate,  so  I 
thought  I  would  take  the  opportunity  of  re- 
turning your  parasol,  which  you  left  behind 
you  the  other  night." 

"  Thanks  awfully,"  said  Fanny ;  "  it's 
awfully  good  of  you  to  take  the  trouble. 
Please  excuse  the  untidiness ;  we  are  in  a 
great  upset  for — the  painters  are  coming  in. 
Won't  you  come  into  the  breakfast  -  room  ? 
there's  a  fire  there ;  it's  not  cold,  I  know,  but 
I  always  think  a  fire  is  so  bright." 

She  led  the  way  to  the  breakfast-room,  her 
visitor  following,  anxious  to  see  as  much  as 
she  could  of  the  inner  working  of  the 
Lambert  household. 

She  gave  a  little  start  at  the  sight  of  the 
breakfast  things  not  removed,  and  another 
start  at  sight  of  the  provender  laid  out  for 
one  small  person.  The  remains  of  a  round 
of  beef  graced  one  end  of  the  board,  and 
a  haddock  that,  had  it  been  let  grow,  would 


290  FANNY   LAMBERT 

assuredly  have  ended  its  life  in  the  form  of 
a  whale,  the  other ;  there  was  also  jam  and 
other  things,  including  some  shortbread  on  a 
plate. 

"  Have  you  had  breakfast  ? "  asked  Fanny 
in  a  hospitable  tone  of  voice. 

"  I  breakfasted  at  quarter  to  eight,"  said 
Miss  Hancock  with  a  scarcely  perceptible 
emphasis  on  the  "  I." 

"  I  know  we're  awfully  late  as  a  rule,"  said 
Fanny,  as  they  sat  down  near  the  window,  in 
and  out  of  which  the  wasps  were  coming,  and 
through  which  the  sun  shone,  laying  a  burning 
square  on  the  carpet,  "  but  I  hate  early  break- 
fast. When  I  breakfast  at  eight  I  feel  a  hundred 
years  old  by  twelve.  Did  you  ever  notice  how 
awfully  long  mornings  are  ?  " 

"  My  mornings,"  said  Miss  Hancock,  laying 
a  scarcely  perceptible  accent  on  the  "  my," 
"are  all  too  short ;  an  hour  lost  in  the  morning 
is  never  regained.  You  cannot  expect  servants 
to  be  active  and  diligent  without  you  set  them 
the  example.  We  are  placed,  I  think,  in  a  very 
responsible  position  with  regard  to  our  servants  : 
as  we  make  them  so  they  are." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  "  said  Fanny,  trying  to 
consider  what  part  she  possibly  could  have 


THE   RESULT  291 

had    in    the    construction    of   James    and    the 
helpmeet  Susannah. 

"  I  am  sure  of  it.  If  we  are  idle  or  lazy 
ourselves  they  imitate  us  ;  they  are  like  children, 
and  we  should  treat  them  as  such.  I  ring  the 
bell  at  half-past  five  every  morning  for  the 

maids,    and    I    expect    them    to   be    down   by 

•    >» 
six. 

"What  time  ao  you  get  up?" 

"  Half-past  seven." 

"Then,"  said  Fanny,  laughing,  "you  don't 
set  them — I  mean  they  set  you  the  example, 
for  they  are  up  before  you." 

"  I  spoke  figuratively,"  said  Miss  Hancock 
rather  stiffly,  and  eyeing  the  handmaiden  who 
had  just  appeared  at  the  door  to  remove  the 
things. 

"  Give  the  fish  to  the  cats,  Susannah,"  said 
her  mistress,  "and  be  sure  to  take  the  bones 
out ;  one  nearly  choked,  "  she  said,  resuming 
her  conversation  with  her  visitor,  "  the  other 
morning." 

"  Hum  ! "  said  Miss  Hancock,  unenthusiastic 
on  the  subject  of  choking  cats.  "  Do  you 
always  feed  your  animals  on — good  food  ?  " 

"Yes,  of  course." 

"You  are  very  young,  and,  of  course,  it  is 


292  FANNY   LAMBERT 

no  affair  of  mine,  but  I  think  in  housekeeping 
— having  first  of  all  regard  to  waste  —  one 
ought  to  consider  how  many  poor  people  are 
starving.  I  send  all  my  scraps  to  the  St 
Mark's  Refuge  Home,  an  excellent  institution." 

"  I  used  to  give  a  lot  of  food  away,"  said 
Fanny,  "but  I  found  it  didn't  pay,  people 
didn't  want  it.  We  had  a  barrel  of  beer  that 
no  one  drank,  so  I  gave  a  tramp  a  jugful 
once,  and  he  made  a  mark  somewhere  on  the 
house,  and  after  that  twenty  or  thirty  tramps 
a  day  called.  We  couldn't  find  the  mark,  so 
father  had  to  have  the  whole  lower  part  of 
the  house  lime-washed,  and  the  gate  pillars. 
After  that  he  said  no  more  food  was  to  be 
given  away,  or  beer." 

"  There  are  poor  and  poor.  To  give  beer 
to  a  tramp  is  in  my  opinion  a  distinctly  wicked 
act ;  it  is  simply  feeding  the  flames  of  drunken- 
ness, as  Mr  Bulders  says.  You  have  heard  of 
Mr  Bulders?" 

"N— no." 

"  I  must  introduce  you.  I  hope  you  will 
like  him,  he  is  a  great  friend  of  ours.  Your 
Christian  name  is  Fanny,  I  believe.  May  I 
call  you  Fanny?" 

"  Yes,"    said    Fanny.    "  How    queer    it    is, 


THE   RESULT  293 

nobody  knows  me  for — I  mean,  everybody 
always  asks  me  that  before  I  have  known 
them  for  more " 

"Everybody?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Gentlemen,  my  dear  child,  surely  not  ?  " 

"Yes,  they  do." 

Miss  Hancock  said  nothing,  but  sat  for  a 
moment  in  silence  gloating  over  the  girl  before 
her.  Here  was  a  gold-mine  of  pure  correction 
— the  metaphor  is  mixed  perhaps,  but  you  will 
understand  it.  Then  she  said  :  "  And  do  you 
permit  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  7  don't  care." 

"But     I     fancy,     your     father "     Miss 

Hancock  paused. 

"  Oh,  father  doesn't  mind ;  every  one  has 
called  me  Fanny  since  I  was  so  high." 

"  Yes,  but,  my  dear  girl,  you  are  no  longer 
a  child.  Fathers  are  indulgent,  and  sometimes 
blind  to  what  the  world  thinks  ;  consider,  when 
you  come  to  marry,  when  you  come  to  have 
a  husband " 

"  Oh,  I  hope  it'll  be  a  long  time  before 
I  come  to  that,"  said  Fanny,  in  a  tone  of 
voice  as  if  general  service  or  the  workhouse 
were  the  topic  of  discussion. 


294  FANNY   LAMBERT 

Miss  Hancock  took  a  rather  deep  inspiration, 
and  was  dumb  for  a  moment. 

"  I  understood  my  brother  to  say  that  he 
had  written  to  you  on  a  subject  touching  your 
welfare  and  his  happiness  ? " 

Fanny  flushed  all  over  her  face  and  neck. 
Only  a  little  child  or  a  very  young  girl  can 
blush  like  that — a  blush  that  passes  almost 
as  quickly  as  it  comes,  and  is,  perhaps,  of  all 
emotional  expressions  the  most  natural  and 
charming. 

"I  did  have  a  letter,"  she  faltered,  "and  I 
have  tried  to  answer  it,  am  going  to  answer 
it — I  am  so  sorry " 

"  I  don't  see  the  necessity  of  being  sorry," 
said  the  elder  lady.  "  One  does  not  answer 
a  letter  of  that  description  flippantly  and  by 
the  next  post ;  my  brother  will  quite  under- 
stand and  appreciate  the  cause  of  delay." 

"Oh,  but  it's  not  the  delay  I'm  sorry  for, 
it's  the — it's  the  having  to  say  that — I  can't 
say  what  he  wants  me  to  say." 

Miss  Hancock  raised  her  eyebrows.  Miss 
Lambert's  English  was  enough  to  raise  a 
grammarian  from  the  grave,  but  it  was  not 
at  the  English  that  Miss  Hancock  evinced 
surprise. 


THE   RESULT  295 

James  Hancock  was  not  as  old  to  his 
sister  as  he  appeared  to  the  rest  of  the  world, 
though  she  knew  his  age  to  a  day  and  had 
quoted  it  as  an  argument  against  his  marriage  ; 
she  did  not  appreciate  the  fact  that  he  looked 
every  day  of  his  age,  and  even  perhaps  a 
few  days  over. 

It  is  a  pathetic  and  sometimes  beautiful — 
and  sometimes  ugly — fact  that  we  are  blind 
to  much  in  the  people  we  live  with  and  grow 
up  with.  Joan  sees  Darby  very  much  as 
she  saw  him  thirty  years  ago,  and  to  Miss 
Hancock  her  younger  brother  was  her 
younger  brother ;  and  her  younger  brother, 
to  a  woman,  is  never  old.  Besides  being  in 
the  "prime  of  life,"  James  was  clever;  besides 
being  clever,  he  was  rich,  very  rich.  What 
more  could  a  girl  want  ? 

"You  mean,"  said  Patience,  "that  you 
cannot  accept  his  proposition." 

"N — no— that  is,   I'd  like  to,  but  I  can't." 

"If  you  '  liked '  to  do  it,  I  do  not  see  what 
is  to  prevent  you." 

"Oh,  it's  not  that  sort  of  liking.  I  mean 
I'd  like  to  like  him,  I  do  like  him,  but  not 
in  the  way  he  wants." 

"  It  is  no  affair  of  mine,"  said  Miss  Hancock, 


296  FANNY   LAMBERT 

"  not  in  the  least,  but  I  would  urge  you  not 
to  be  too  hasty  in  your  reply.  Think  over 
it,  weigh  the  matter  judicially  before  you 
decide  upon  what,  after  all,  is  the  most 
important  decision  a  young  girl  is  ever  called 
upon  to  make." 

"  I  hate  myself,"  broke  out  Fanny,  who 
had  been  listening  with  bent  head,  and 
finger  tracing  the  pattern  on  the  cloth  of 
the  table  beside  her.  "  I  hate  myself. 
People  are  always  doing  me  kindnesses  and 
I  am  always  acting  like  a  beast,  so  it 
seems  to  me,  but  how  can  I  help  it  ? " 
lifting  her  head  suddenly  with  a  bright 
smile.  "If  I  were  to  marry  them  all,  I'd 
have  about  fifty  husbands,  now — more\ — so 
what  am  I  to  do  ?  " 

Miss  Hancock  sniffed ;  she  had  never  been 
in  the  same  position  herself,  so  could  give 
no  advice  from  experience.  The  question 
rather  irritated  her,  and  a  smart  lecture  rose 
to  her  lips  on  the  impropriety  and  immodesty 
of  girls  allowing  people  of  the  other  sex  to 
"  care  for  them,"  etc.,  etc.,  but  the  lecture 
did  not  pass  her  lips. 

Since  entering  the  house  of  the  Lamberts 
the  demon  of  Order  had  swelled  Jinnee-like 


THE   RESULT  297 

in  her  breast,  and  the  seven  devils  of  spring 
cleaning,  each  of  whose  right  hands  is  a  cake 
of  soap,  and  whose  left  hands  are  scrubbing- 
brushes,  arose  and  ramped.  The  whole  place 
and  the  people  therein,  from  the  bell-pull 
to  the  cats'-breakfast-destined  haddock,  from 
Susannah  to  her  mistress,  exercised  a  fascina- 
tion upon  Miss  Hancock  beyond  the  power 
of  words  to  describe.  She  had  measured 
Susannah  from  her  sand-coloured  hair  to  her 
slipshod  feet,  gauged  her  capacity  for  work 
and  her  moral  ineptitude,  and  had  already 
dismissed  her,  in  her  mind  ;  as  for  the  rest 
of  the  business,  the  ordering  of  Fanny  and  of 
her  father,  whom  she  divined,  the  setting  of 
the  house  to  rights  and  the  righting  of  all  the 
Lamberts'  affairs,  mundane  and  extra-mundane 
— this,  she  felt,  would  be  a  work,  which  accom- 
plished, she  could  say,  "  I  have  not  lived 
in  vain."  All  this  might  be  lost  by  a  lecture 
misplaced. 

"  Of  course  you  will  please  yourself,"  she 
said.  "  I  would  only  say  do  nothing  rashly ; 
and  in  whatever  way  you  decide,  I  hope  you 
will  always  be  our  friend.  You  are  very 
young  to  have  the  cares  of  a  house  and  the 
ordering  of  servants  thrust  upon  you,  and 


298  FANNY   LAMBERT 

any  assistance  or  advice  I  can  give  you,  I 
should  be  very  glad  to  give." 

"  Thanks  so  much  !  " 

"  I  would  be  very  glad  to  call  some  day 
and  have  a  good  long  chat  with  you ;  my 
experience  in  housekeeping  might  be  of 
assistance." 

"  I  should  be  delighted''  gasped  Fanny, 
who  felt  like  a  bird  in  the  net  of  the  fowler, 
and  whose  soul  was  filled  with  one  wild 
longing — the  longing  to  escape. 

"  What  day  shall  we  say  ?  " 

"  Monday — no,  not  Monday,  I  have  an 
engagement.  Tuesday — I  am  not  sure  about 
Tuesday.  Suppose — suppose  I  write?" 

"  I  am  disengaged  all  next  week ;  any  day 
you  please  to  appoint  I  shall  be  glad  to 
come.  What  a  large  garden  you  have ! " 

"  Would  you  like  to  come  round  it  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  will  wait  till  you  put  on  your 
hat." 

"  Oh,  I  scarcely  ever  wear  a  hat  in  the 
garden.  If  you  come  this  way  we  can  go 
out  through  the  side  door." 

They  wandered  around  the  garden,  Miss 
Hancock  making  notes  in  her  own  mind. 
As  they  passed  the  kitchen  window,  a  face 


THE   RESULT  299 

gazed  out,  a  beery,  leery  face,  behind  which 
could  be  seen  the  pale  phantom  of  Susannah. 
The  face  was  gazing  at  Miss  Hancock  with  an 
expression  of  amused  and  critical  impudence 
that  caused  that  lady  to  pause  and  snort. 

"  Did  you  see  that  man  looking  from  the 
window  ?  "  she  asked. 

"Yes,"  said  Fanny  in  an  agony,  "it  must 
have  been  the  plumber ;  he  came  this 
morning  to  mend  the  stove.  Oh,  here  is 
your  carriage  waiting ;  so  glad  you  called. 
Yes,  I'll  write." 


CHAPTER   III 

THE  RESULT — (continued) 

Miss  LAMBERT  ran  back  to  the  house.  She 
made  a  bee-line  for  the  library,  sat  down  at 
the  writing-table,  seized  a  pen  and  a  sheet  of 
paper,  and  began  writing  as  if  inspired.  This 
is  what  she  wrote,  in  part : 

"  MY  DEAR  MR  HANCOCK, — I  have  written 
several  letters  to  you  in  reply  to  yours,  but 
I  tore  them  up  simply  because  I  found  it  so 
difficult  to  express  what  I  wanted  to  say.  .  .  . 


300  FANNY   LAMBERT 

I  can  never,  never,  marry  you  ;  I  don't  think 
I  shall  ever  marry  any  one,  at  least,  not  for 
a  long  time  .  .  .  deeply,  deeply  respect  you, 
and  father  says  you  are  the  best  man  he 
ever  met.  Why  not  let  us  always  be  friends  ? 
...  It's  a  horrible  world,  and  there  are  so 
few  people  who  are  really  nice  in  it  ...  you 
will  quite  understand  .  .  .  etc." 

Four  pages  of  this  signed, 

"  Always  your  sincere  friend, 

"  FANNY  LAMBERT." 

Now  we  have  seen  that  Miss  Hancock  had 
endeavoured  as  far  as  in  her  lay  to  help  along 
her  brother's  interests  with  Miss  Lambert. 
Yet  on  the  receipt  of  the  above  letter  the 
conviction  entered  the  mind  of  James  Hancock, 
never  to  be  evicted,  that  his  sister  had, 
vulgarly  speaking,  "  dished "  the  affair,  and, 
moreover,  that  she  had  done  so  wittingly 
and  of  malice  prepense. 

Having  gummed  and  stamped  the  envelope 
she  went  out  herself  and  posted  it. 

When  she  came  back  she  found  Leavesley 
waiting  for  her. 


"JOURNEY'S   END"  301 


CHAPTER   IV 

"JOURNEY'S  END" 

FOR  some  days  past,  ever  since  Verneede's 
fiasco  in  fact,  Leavesley  had  been  very  much 
down  in  the  mouth. 

There  is  a  tide  in  the  affairs  of  man  that 
when  it  reaches  its  lowest  ebb  usually  takes  a 
turn.  The  tide  had  been  out  with  Leavesley 
for  some  time,  and  acres  of  desolate  mud 
spoke  nothing  of  the  rolling  breakers  that 
were  coming  in. 

The  first  roller  had  arrived  by  the  first  post 
on  this  very  morning.  It  was  a  letter  from 
his  uncle. 

"GORDON  SQUARE. 

"  DEAR  FRANK, — I  am  in  bed  with  a  bad 
foot,  or  I  would  ask  you  to  call  and  see  me. 

"  I  want  that  five  pounds  back.  I  made  a 
will  some  years  ago,  by  which  you  benefited  to 
the  extent  of  two  thousand  pounds ;  I  am 
destroying  that  will,  and  drafting  another. 

"  It's  this  way.  I  don't  intend  to  die  j'ust  yet, 
and  you  may  as  well  have  the  two  thousand 


302  FANNY   LAMBERT 

now,  when  it  will  be  of  use  to  you.  Call  on 
Bridge  water,  he  will  hand  you  shares  to  the 
amount  in  the  Great  Western  Railway.  Take 
my  advice  and  don't  sell  them,  they  are  going 
to  rise,  but  of  course,  as  to  this  you  are  your 
own  master. — Your  affectionate  uncle, 

"JAMES  HANCOCK." 

"  Two  thousand  pounds !  "  yelled  Leavesley, 
"  Belinda ! "  (he  had  heard  her  foot  on  the 
stairs). 

"  Yessir." 

"  I've  been  left  two  thousand  pounds." 
Belinda  passed  on  her  avocations  ;  she  thought 
it  was  another  of  Mr  Leavesley's  jokes. 

He  ate  a  tremendous  breakfast  without 
knowing  what  he  was  eating,  and  in  the 
middle  of  it  the  second  roller  came  in. 

It  was  a  telegram. 

He  felt  certain  it  was  from  Hancock  re- 
voking his  legacy.  It  was  from  Miss  Lambert. 

"  Only  just  found  your  letter.  Please  call  this 
morning.  Good  news  to  tell  you." 

"  Fanny !  "  cried  Leavesley,  as  he  stood  before 
her  in  the  drawing-room  of  "  The  Laurels  "  (she 
had  just  entered  the  room,  having  returned 
from  posting  her  letter). 


"JOURNEY'S   END"  303 

Think — I've  got  two  thousand  pounds  this 
morning ! " 

"  Mercy ! "  cried  Miss  Lambert.  "  Where 
did  you  get  it  from  ? " 

"  Uncle." 

"Mr  Hancock?" 

"  Yes ;  he  was  going  to  have  left  me  it  in 
his  will,  but  he's  given  me  it  instead." 

"  How  good  of  him  !  "  said  Fanny.  She  was 
about  to  say  something  else,  but  she  stopped. 

"  That's  my  good  news,"  continued 
Leavesley.  "  What's  yours  ?  " 

"  Mine  ?  Oh — just  think  !  Father's  engaged 
to  be  married." 

"  To  be  married  ?" 

"  Yes,  to  a  Miss  Pursehouse ;  she's  awfully 
rich." 

He  did  not  for  a  moment  grasp  the  im- 
portance of  this  piece  of  intelligence.  Then 
it  broke  on  him.  Now  that  Fanny's  father 
was  provided  for,  she  would  be  free  to  marry 
any  one  she  liked. 

•  •  •  « 

"  I  was  nearly  heart  -  broken,"  mumbled 
Leavesley  into  Fanny's  hair — they  were  seated 
on  the  couch — "when  you  didn't  reply." 

"The  letter  was  on  the  kitchen  dresser  all 


304  FANNY    LAMBERT 

the   time,"    replied    Fanny    in   a    happy    and 
dreamy  voice,   "behind  a  plate." 

"  And  then  when  old  Verneede  called,  and 
you  seemed  so  indifferent — at  least,  he  said 
you  did." 

"Who  said  I  did?" 

"  Verneede  ;  when  he  called  here  that  day." 

"  He  never  called  here." 

"  Verneede  never  called  here  ?  " 

"  Never  in  his  life." 

"He  said  he  did,  and  he  saw  you,  and  told 
you  I  was  going  to  Australia,  and  you  didn't 
care." 

"  Oh,  what  a  horrid,  wicked  story !  He 
never  came  here." 

"  He  must  have  been  dreaming  then,"  said 
Leavesley,  who  began  to  see  how  matters 
stood  as  regards  the  veracity  of  Verneede. 
"  No  matter,  I  don't  care  now.  Hold  me 
tighter,  Fanny." 

•  •  •  •  • 

Till  some  one  discovers  the  art  of  printing 
kisses,  asterisks  must  serve. 

"  But,"  said  Leavesley  after  an  interval  of 
sweet  silence,  "  what  I  can't  make  out  is 
how  Bridgewater  found  out  about  you  and 
me." 


"JOURNEY'S   END"  305 

"  Bridgewater ! " 

"  Yes ;  he  told  my  aunt  all  about  us,  and 
our  going  to  Epping  Forest :  only  the  old 
fool  said  we  went  to  the  Zoo." 

Fanny  was  silent.  Then  she  said  in  a 
perplexed  voice :  "  I  want  to  tell  you  some- 
thing. I  did  go  to  the  Zoo." 

"When?" 

"  The  other  day." 

"Who  with?" 

"Guess!" 

"Not — not  Bevan?" 

"No,"  said  Fanny,   "  with  your  uncle." 

Leavesley  laughed. 

"  What  a  joke  !    Are  you  really  in  earnest  ?  " 

"Yes ;  he  wrote  to  ask  if  I'd  like  to  go,  and 
I  went.  We  met  Mr  Bridgewater." 

"  Oh,  that  accounts  for  it ;  he's  mixed  me 
and  uncle  up  together — he  must  be  going  mad. 
Every  one  seems  a  little  mad  lately,  uncle 
especially — taking  you  to  the  Zoo,  and  giving 
me  two  thousand,  and — and — no  matter,  kiss 
me  again." 

•  ••••• 

"  Now,"  said  Fanny,  suddenly  jumping  up, 
"  I  must  see  after  the  house.  Father  wired 

this    morning    that    he    was     bringing    Miss 

u  * 


306  FANNY  LAMBERT 

Pursehouse  here  to-day  to  see  the  place,  and  I 
must  get  it  tidy.     Who's  there  ?  " 

"  Miss  Fanny,"  said  Susannah,  opening  the 
door  an  inch.  Miss  Lambert  left  the  room 
hurriedly  and  closed  the  door.  There  was 
something  in  Susannah's  voice  that  told  her 
"something  had  happened." 

"  He's  downstairs  in  the  library." 

"  Oh,  my  goodness  ! "  murmured  Fanny  with 
a  frown ;  visions  of  Mr  Hancock  in  all  the 
positions  of  love-making  rose  before  her. 
"  Why  didn't  you  say  I  was  out?" 

"  I  did,  miss,  and  he  said  he'd  wait." 

Fanny  went  downstairs  and  into  the  library, 
and  there  before  her  stood  Mr  Bevan  on  the 
hearthrug. 

Her  face  brightened  wonderfully. 

"  I  am  so  glad — when  did  you  come  ?  Guess 
who  I  thought  it  was?  I  thought  it  was  Mr 
Hancock." 

"  Hancock  ? "  said  Charles,  who  had  held 
her  outstretched  hand  just  a  moment  longer 
than  was  absolutely  necessary.  "  Oh,  that  affair 
is  all  over.  I  stopped  the  action — by  the  way, 
I  believe  old  Hancock's  cracked ;  sent  your 
father  a  most  extraordinary  wire,  saying  I  was 
— what  was  it  he  said  ? — a  duck,  I  think." 


"JOURNEY'S  END"  307 

*  Where  have  you  seen  father  ?  " 

"Why,   I  was    staying   in    the    same   house 
with  him  down  in  Sussex  for  a  day." 

"At  Miss  Pursehouse's ? " 

"Yes." 

"How  awfully  funny !      Did  he  tell  you  ?  " 

"What?" 

"  That  he's  engaged  to  be  married  to  Miss 
Pursehouse.  I  had  the  letter  this  morning — 
oh,  of  course  he  couldn't  have  told  you,  for 
he  only  proposed  yesterday  afternoon.  He 
wrote  in  an  awful  hurry,  just  a  line  to  say 
he's  'engaged  and  done  for.'  Isn't  he  funny ? 
There  was  another  man  after  her,  and  father 
says  he  has  'cut  him  out.'  Do  tell  me  all 
about  them  ;  did  you  see  the  other  man  ?  and 
what  did  you  think  of  father  —  isn't  he  a 
dear?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr  Bevan  abstractedly.  He 
was  flabbergasted  with  the  news  and  irritated, 
although  he  was  not  in  love,  and  never  had 
been  in  love,  with  Miss  Pursehouse,  still,  it  was 
distinctly  unpleasant  to  think  that  he  had  been 
"  cut  out." 

"  I  thought  he  seemed  fond  of  her  in  Paris," 
continued  Fanny,  "but  one  never  can  tell. 
I'm  glad  he  got  the  telegram  all  right.  It 


308  FANNY  LAMBERT 

was  I  that  sent  it.  I  was  going  to  the  Zoo 
with  Mr  Hancock " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  ?  "  said  Mr  Bevan. 

"  I  was  going  to  the  Zoo  with  Mr  Hancock. 
Oh,  I  have  such  a  lot  to  tell  you,  but  promise 
me  first  you'll  never  tell." 

"Yes." 

"  Well — guess  what's  happened  ?  " 

"  Can't  think." 

"  Well,  Mr  Hancock  proposed  to  me — but 
you  won't  tell,  will  you  ?  " 

Mr  Bevan  gasped. 

"  Hancock  !  " 

"  Yes ;  he  wrote  such  a  funny,  queer  little 
letter.  It  made  me  cry." 

"  Hancock  !  " 

"Yes,  but  you've  promised  never  to  tell. 
Every  one  seems  to  have  been  proposing  to 
me  in  the  last  three  months,  and  I  wish 
they'd  stop — I  wish  they'd  stop,"  said  Miss 
Lambert,  half-talking  to  herself  and  half  to 
Bevan,  half-laughing  and  half-crying  all  at  the 
same  time ;  "  it's  got  on  my  nerves.  James 
will  be  the  next — it's  like  the  influenza,  it 
seems  in  the  air " 

"  I  came  to-day,"  said  Mr  Bevan  with 
awful  and  preternatural  gravity,  "  to  speak  to 


"JOURNEY'S   END"  309 

you,  Fanny — to  tell  you  that  ever  since  I  saw 
you  first,  I  have  thought  of  nobody  else " 

"  Oh,  stop,"  said  Fanny,  "  stop,  stop — oh, 
this  is  too  bad!  I  never  thought  you  would 
do  it.  I  thought  I  had  one  f-f- friend." 

"  Dorit  cry  ;   Fanny,  listen  to  me." 

"  I  can't  help  it,  it's  too  awful." 

"  Fanny ! " 

"Yes,  Charles?" 

"  Dry  your  eyes,  and  tell  me  this  ;  am  I  so 
very  dreadful  ?  Don't  you  think  if  you  tried 
you  could  care  for  me  ?  I  know  I'm  not  clever 
and  all  that — look  up."  He  took  her  hand, 
and  she  let  him  hold  it. 

Then  she  spoke  these  hope-destroying  words : 

"  If  I  h — hadn't  met  him,  I  believe  I — I — 
I'd  have  married  you — if  you'd  asked  me." 

"  Oh,  my  God  ! — it's  all  up  then,"  said  Bevan. 

"We're  both  so  poor,"  said  Fanny,  "that 
you  needn't  envy  us,  dear  Cousin  Charles; 
all  we've  got  in  the  world  is  our  love  for  each 
other." 

"  He's  a  painter,  is  he  not?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Fanny,  peeping  up ;  "  but  how 
did  you  know  ?  " 

"  Miss  Morgan,  that  American  girl,  told  me 
something  about  him."  Mr  Bevan  stood  silent 


310  FANNY   LAMBERT 

for  a  moment,  and  then  went  on :  "  Look 
here,  Fanny,  just  think  this  matter  over  and 
tell  me  your  mind.  I'll  put  my  case  before 
you.  You  like  me,  I  think?" 

"Yes,  I  dor 

"  Well,  I  am  not  so  very  old,  and  I  am 
rich ;  between  one  thing  and  another  I 
have  about  eight  thousand  a  year.  We  might 
be  very  happy  together — don't  interrupt  me, 
I  am  just  stating  my  case — money  means  a 
lot  in  this  world  ;  it's  not  everything,  I  admit 
—there  are  some  men  richer  than  I,  that  I 
would  be  sorry  to  see  any  girl  married  to. 
Well,  on  the  other  hand,  there  is  this  other 
man  ;  he  may  be  awfully  jolly,  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing,  but  he's  poor — very  poor,  from 
what  I  can  gather.  Before  you  kick  me 
over,  think  of  the  future — think  well." 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  Fanny,  "  that  if  you 
had  come  yesterday,  and  had  asked  me  to 
marry  you,  I  believe  I  would  have  said  '  yes,' 
and  then  we  would  have  been  always  miserable. 
I  would  have  married  you  for  your  money ; 
not  for  myself,  but  to  help  father.  But  you 
see  now  that  he  is  going  to  be  married  to 
Miss  Pursehouse  shell  take,  care  of  him." 

"  He  is  not  married  to  her  yet,"  said  Charles, 


"JOURNEY'S   END"  311 

thinking  of  Lulu  Morgan's  words,  and  cursing 
himself  for  having  let  days  slip  by,  for  he 
could  have  called  yesterday,  or  the  day  before, 
but  for  indecision — that  most  fatal  of  all 
elements  in  human  affairs. 

"No,  but  he  will  marry  her,  for  when  father 
makes  up  his  mind  to  do  a  thing  he  always 
does  it." 

"So  then,"  he  said,  "you  have  made  up 
your  mind  irrevocably  not  to  have  anything 
to  do  with  me?" 

"  I  must,  I  must — Oh  dear,  I  wish  I  were 
dead.  I  will  always  be  your  friend — I  will 
always  be  a  sister  to  you." 

"  Don't — don't  say  anything  more  about  it, 
please.  You  can't  help  yourself — it's  fate." 

"  You're  not  angry  with  me  ?  " 

"  No — let  us  talk  of  other  things.  How 
are  you  getting  on,  has  that  man  been  giving 
any  more  trouble  ?  " 

"  James — oh,  he's  been  dreadful.  His  wife 
has  run  away  from  their  lodgings  ;  and  now 
he  says  she  was  not  his  wife  at  all,  and 
Susannah  is  breaking  her  heart,  for  she  can't 
bring  him  to  the  point.  When  she  suggests 
marriage  he  does  all  his  things  up  in  a  bundle 
and  says  he's  going  to  Australia.  I'll  get 


father  to  turn  him  out  when  he  comes 
back." 

"  Let  me,"  said  Charles,  who  felt  an 
imperative  desire  to  kick  some  one — himself, 
if  possible — that  being  out  of  the  question — 
James. 

"  No,"  said  Fanny,  as  he  rose  and  took  his 
hat  preparatory  to  departing,  "for  she'd  follow 
him,  and  I'd  be  left  alone.  Who  is  this?" 

A  hansom  cab  was  crashing  up  the  gravel 
drive. 

"It's  father — and  Miss  Pursehouse." 

"Who  do  you  say?"  cried  Be  van. 

"  Miss  Pursehouse." 

"  Fanny !  "  cried  Mr  Be  van  in  desperation. 

"Yes?" 

"  Don't  let  them  in  here,  don't  let  them 
see  me." 

"  Then  quick,"  said  Fanny,  not  knowing  the 
truth  of  the  matter,  but  guessing  that  Charles 
as  a  rejected  lover  had  his  feelings,  and  pre- 
ferred not  to  meet  her  father. 

She  led  him  across  the  hall  and  down  some 
steps,  then  pushed  him  into  a  passage,  which, 
being  pursued,  led  to  the  kitchen,  whence 
through  the  scullery  flight  might  be  effected 
by  the  back  entry  of  "  The  Laurels." 


BY 

HATTIED.BOHANNON 

12  mo  Cloth  -  $1.00  net 

"...  Revolves  round  the  love  of  the  young 
man  for  a  woman,  divorced,  wilful,  passionate  and 
fickle.  The  young  fellow  himself  is  a  nameless  child, 
and  leaving  his  grandfather's  home  nearly  kills  the  old 
man.  In  the  meantime,  the  woman  in  the  case  falls  in 
love  herself  with  the  young  man's  friend,  a  preacher, 
and  in  this  as  in  all  else  has  her  way.  This  is  the  tale, 
but  the  charm  of  it  lies  wholly  in  the  telling;  it  is 
Barrie  and  Texas,  soft  Southern  dialect  and  fierce 
Southern  temperaments,  all  together."  • — Boston  Globe. 

"...  gives  a  tenderly  sympathetic  revelation  of 
character  in  a,  country  doctor's  narration  of  the  life 
story  of  his  young  protege,  Robert  March.  He  is  one 
who  conquers  the  misfortunes  of  base  birth,  neglect 
and  poverty,  whose  religious  faith  is  almost  shattered 
through  the  fickleness  of  a  woman,  but  who  overcomes 
and  becomes  altogether  worthy  and  exalted  in  char- 
acter." — Chicago  Daily  News. 

"A  'Find !'  A  Strong  Story  by  a  New  Writer." 
"I  knew  nothing  of  Hattie  Donovan  Bohannon  until 
I  saw  her  story  called  'The  Light  of  Stars.'  But  I 
want  to  say  that  she  is  a  woman  who  can  write.  She 
creates  that  elusive  thing  called  atmosphere,  the  quality 
that  hovers  around  the  work  of  the  strange  Bronte 
sisters,  the  quality  that  vibrates  in  the  tales  of  Harriet 
Prescott  Spofford.  It  has  that  quality  of  imaginative 
sympathy  that  completes  the  electric  circuit  between  the 
reader  and  the  people  of  the  printed  page.  .  .  .  Miss 
Bohannon,  please  pass  us  down  another  book." 

— EDWIN  MARKHAN  in  New  York  American. 


In  the  Shadow  of  God 

By  GUY  ARTHUR  JAMESON 

Author  of 

-AT  THE  EDGE  OF  THE  YELLOW  SKY" 
Etc.,  Etc. 

Til  HE  story  begins  in  the  West,  picturing  the 
^  struggle  of  a  youth  between  what  he  thinks 
his  duty  and  a  compelling  instinct ;  but  as  the 
story  progresses  the  duty  becomes  a  superstition, 
the  instinct  the  call  of  God — he  follows  it  and  in 
doin^  so  finds  his  soul — rejoices  in  it  and  wihs  from 
it  at  last  great  power  and  success. 

"In  the  Shadow  of  God"  is  a  novel  that  will 
appeal  to  the  thoughtful  and  discerning — the  reader 
that  appreciates  the  different,  the  original,  the  dram- 
atic, the  powerful.  It  is  a  novel  that  will  provoke 
wide-spread  criticism  and  is  sure  to  become  one  of 
the  most  talked-about  novels  of  the  year,  calling 
forth  extravagant  praise  and  denunciation,  though 
the  spirit  of  the  book  is  one  of  the  broadest  charity, 
kindliest  sympathy,  and  one  closes  it  with  a  more 
generous  fellow  feeling  for  "all  sorts  and  conditions 
of  men."  It  is  a  big  book  with  a  big  surprise — a 
big  book  with  a  big  motive,  a  big  heart  and  a  big  soul. 
We  do  not  ipish  to  condemn  the  book  toith  extrava- 
gant praise,  but  if  it  did  not  have  the  peculiar  surprising 
.tertt  of  which  we  speak  &e  could  not  thus  strongly 
commend  it  to  the  public. 

12mo..  CLOTH         ::        $1.00  NET 

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3Sotoer  of  innocence 

"  •"" 

By  ARTHUR  J.  WESTERMAYR 

In  Francesca  we  have  a  character  unusual  in  modern 
fiction.  She  is  a  Venetian  by  birth  ;  raised  in  the  slums  of 
the  back  streets  of  Venice,  she  is  taken  from  an  artist's 
studio,  where  she  has  posed  as  a  child  model,  by  a  student 
of  heredity,  for  the  purpose  of  experiment,  by  whom  she  is 
placed  in  refined  and  elevating  environment.  Though  of 
evil  parentage  she  grows  to  womanhood  gracefully,  and  her 
beauty  of  form  and  feature  is  not  less  remarkable  and  striking 
than  that  of  her  moral  character.  An  evil  deed,  committed 
without  her  fault,  tears  her  away  from  her  pleasant  sur- 
roundings, and  when  next  we  meet  her  she  is  in  Munich, 
the  great  art  center  of  Europe,  where  she  becomes  acquainted 
with  William  Blake,  an  American  artist,  for  whose  painting 
"Power  of  Innocence"  she  poses,  thereby  bringing  him 
fame  and  fortune.  Their  love  is  overshadowed  by  Fran- 
cesca's  wrong,  and  after  passing  through  a  terrible  ordeal, 
she  rises  above  selfishness  and  makes  the  supreme  sacrifice. 
Her  life  and  character  are  a  final  refutation  of  crime  by 
heredity. 

The  character  of  Helen,  the  childhood  playmate  of  the 
artist,  is  developed  unconventionally  and  along  untried  lines, 
and  affords  a  psychological  undercurrent  whose  worth  as  a 
contribution  to  the  whole  theme  cannot  be  overestimated. 
To  prove  that  one  may  love  and  yet  not  know  it  until  a 
crucial  event  brings  consciousness  of  its  existence,  is  the 
purpose  of  this  uncommon  character. 

In  lighter  vein,  yet  with  touches  of  pathos  which  win  our 
sympathies  at  once,  is  drawn  Raymond  Sylvester,  the  self- 
constituted  cynic,  who  thinks  himself  cold-blooded  and  hard- 
hearted, but  who  is  in  fact  a  warm-hearted,  generous  friend 
and  typical  Englishman. 

I2mo,  cloth.    Illustrated.     $1.50 


R.  F.  FENNO  &  COMPANY 

18  EAST  17th  STREET  NEW  YORK 


(AN  INTERPRETATION) 
BY    CLIFFORD    HOWARD 

Author  of 

'"CTie  Story  of  a  Young  JXCan,  Jl  Lift  of  Christ." 

"  'Did  Jesus  Live  in  ^Cazareth  P  " 

frc.,  &c. 

[HE  literary  style  is  charming.  The  descriptions  are 
beautiful  without  being  extravagant,  and  put  one  in 
touch  with  the  country,  the  homes  of  the  people  and 
the  city  in  which  the  story  is  laid.  The  language  is 
pure  and  elegant,  and  to  the  Student  should  be  a  source  of 
constant  delight. 

The  story  discloses  an  intimate  knowledge  of  the  manners 
and  customs  of  the  Jews  at  the  time  of  Christ,  and  in  its  telling 
brings  to  the  reader  a  realization  of  the  every  day  incidents  that 
undoubtedly  crowded  about  the  Master  after  His  fame  began 
to  spread  throughout  Palestine.  It  is  a  side  of  Chris!  and  His 
work  that  should  be  more  widely  studied  and  exploited,  The 
paintings  of  Tissot  gave  the  world  a  different  view  of  ChrisT:  and 
his  surroundings  than  was  ever  before  realized.  Why  should 
not  literature  enforce  and  emphasize  these  human  heart-interest 
features,  and  through  expositions  of  this  nature  put  us  in  closer 
touch  with  the  every-day  life  of  this  man  God  ? 

This  is  presuming  of  course  that  the  work  is  performed  by 
those  who  approach  the  subject  with  reverence  and  intelligence, 
as  is  the  case  with  the  author  of  "THE  PASSOVER." 

The  hint  that  Judas  was  lead  to  betray  Christ  because  of 
jealousy  on  discovering  that  Mary  had  loved  the  Master  is  in- 
genious, making  a  story  of  great  power,  rivalling  "  Ben-Hur" — 
and  this,  too,  without  being  "sensational"  or  irreverant. 

R.       F.       FENNO      &      COMPANY 

18  EAST  SEVENTEENTH  STREET,  NEW  YORK 


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